The New God of Earth
by Bakkughan
Summary: A Marvel fan wakes up in... the DCEU! Oh, this won't end well... this won't end well for anyone at all...
1. Chapter 1

**_The New God of Earth_**

* * *

 **Chapter One – Becoming a better me**  
I was thankful for the helmet that I wore, as it kept my nervousness hidden from view. Focusing on my breathing, I tried to keep it as steady as possible, blinking the rivers of sweat from my eyes as I fell back on nearly two decades of experience in private security. It worked (somewhat), but the fact that my nervousness could give the game away before it had even really started, a game that I had been setting up from the day that I was (re)born no less…

Well, let's just say that it didn't do my nerves any good. Hell, you'd be shaking in your boots as well if you were about to double-cross the most dangerous man on the planet.

Especially if said man had considered you his closest friend ever since the two of you were kids, growing up together in the same manor.

Peering up, I look at the man as he gestures me and my team forwards, before motioning us to a stop with an obnoxious little smirk, causing us to halt the gurney with the bodybag on it. Straightening up, I watch with an impassive face as Lex Luthor steps forwards and unzips the bag, showing the corpse of General Zod.

"Mike, if you could… uhhhh…. Give me the- uhm, the Kryptonite scalpel? Please?"

"Sure thing Lex."

"The rest of you. Leave."

And as I turn to the duffelbag that Luthor brought with him, I hear the other guys from his security detail (men who I had hand-picked and trained) turn on their heel, leaving me alone with the psychopath and the body of one of the most powerful beings in the universe.

When I had woken up as a baby in an orphanage of Metropolis I had been (rather understandably) shocked to my core. It took me quite a while to come to terms with the fact that I had been reincarnated into a new (and as far as I knew, _fictional_ ) universe.

Thankfully, baby's are supposed to cry, so the caretakers at the orphanage had simply dismissed my meltdowns as regular kid stuff.

However, after my mind had gotten (somewhat) used to my new situation, I realized that I needed a plan. True, there were worse fictional universes to be reborn into (Warhammer, for instance, would've probably meant I'd be dead within the week), but that didn't mean that I could feel comfortable being merely human.

Not when aliens, (demi)gods and vigilantes walking the Earth.

I needed to become stronger. Stronger, tougher, _meaner_ than anyone else.

My plan had seemed so simple at the time: find Lex Luthor when he was young, befriend him, and stick by his side until he unlocks the Kryptonian ship and birthing chamber using Zod's fingerprints and his own ridiculous intellect.

And it was _ridiculous_.

I must have seen dozens of film-essays back on my version of Earth where people tore his plan in BvS to shreds, citing that it was convoluted, needlessly complicated and relying on knowledge that Lex realistically couldn't have known (or if he _had_ known, really should've handled differently).

The thing was (as I had found out as his right-hand enforcer) that Lex… _didn't_ have a plan.

Lex didn't think like normal humans did. He wasn't a chessmaster, trying to see five steps ahead of everyone else. He was a complete madman and utter genius, who was playing with ten different chess sets simultaneously, in three dimensions, with Uno-cards. There were no logical steps to follow, instead there were multiple factors that he manipulated and directed without apparent rhyme or reason, simply waiting for the consequences of their actions to become apparent and then react with blinding speed.

I can't remember the amount of times when I had been ordered (usually in the middle of the night), to track down a random person in some backwards little village in the middle of nowhere, to shoot someone on the other end of the planet, to frame a corporate business man in canned goods or something equally mundane and then a few weeks later, Lexcorp would _somehow_ gain a favorable deal with competitors of the Department of Defense or whatever else Lex had set his mind on.

The first few times, it had terrified me when I saw his mad genius at work. I was convinced that he had figured out my own plan, and his role in it. I was _sure_ that somewhere down the line, when I would least expect it, a sniper would put a round through my head on orders of my only friend in the world, simply because the color of the sky set off another set of plans in his scrambled mind.

But overtime, that constant fear of his insanity and the dangers it posed to me began to wear off, bit by bit. I became… numb. As I stacked the bodies higher and higher and dug myself deeper and deeper into a criminal lifestyle, all to appease Lex's latest schemes in order to keep myself from the chopping block, I realized that Lex genuinely thought he and I were friends. This was probably aided by the fact that, when we were kids, I tried to stand between him and his old man (my oldest scars still throb whenever I think of that smug bastard) which must have made me seem like a guardian angel in his eyes.

Maybe that feeling would've faded over time, but since the fact that caring for the ball of insanity that was Lex was a full-time job, I didn't really have much of a personal life whatsoever, meaning that in a twisted way, he was my only friend as well, something that he doubtlessly knew.

Which was why this next part of my plan was so surprisingly hard.

I knew that Lex was a monster, even as I tried to convince myself that I wasn't as bad as him. I have done things for the man-child that would've made Amanda Waller puke. I have spent countless nights in bed, covered either in blood (after a "mission") or cold sweat (after a nightmare) due to his messed up way of dealing with the world. So many years of my life, spent terrified out of my mind that his mecurial mind would suddenly turn on me, and I'd end up in the same ditches that I left my own targets in.

But I also spent countless nights sitting on the floor, my back (often still bruised) against the door of his bedroom, standing guard as he fitfully slept after yet another outburst from Luthor Sr. I was there when he went to college at the mere age of 14 and he couldn't sleep so he called me in the dead of night and demanded that he could listen to my breathing.

I was there when he opened the door of his manor for me, crying and covered in blood.

I was there when I helped him bury the body of his father in the backyard.

I had just turned eighteen. He was only sixteen.

Now we were in our mid-thirties. Well over twenty years of me looking out for him, and him making an concentrated effort to be more sane whenever he was around me. And all that was about to come to an end, right here and now, simply because he had given me all that I needed.

In the end, the thing that I had feared the most had come to pass.

Except I was doing the betraying.

If he's a monster, what the hell does that make me then?

Even as Lex speaks to the computer about raising Zod from the dead, I unclip the Ruger LC9 from my side, the sound catching his attention.

"Mike, what…" he starts, turning to face me, his eyes widening and his mouth falling open as he looks up at the barrel that's aimed straight at his forehead.

"What… w-w-what are you doing…?" he asks in a shocked voice, his troubled mind clearly struggling with the apparent fact that his guardian angel is suddenly betraying him at his moment of glory.

"… I _am_ sorry, Lex. As much as I hate to admit it. I hope you find some sort of peace in death."

"Mike wait-!" he tries, surging towards me, the viscous orange liquid splashing up against his gangly limbs, but he's far too slow.

A squeeze of my finger and a thunderous noise and suddenly Lex's forehead sports a neat little hole in the middle of his forehead. Even as a drop of blood starts to leak out, slowly rolling down to his nose, Lex keeps looking at me with shock clearly written on his face. He slowly tips over backwards but I am able to catch him by the lapels of his long jacket, hauling him out of the birthing puddle.

Unable to look at his dismayed and betrayed expression, frozen in death, I ease him down on his stomach, all the while trying to convince myself that it's sweat covering my cheeks instead of tears.

A monster like Lex (like _me_ ) doesn't deserve tears, I keep telling myself as I take a deep breath, before taking off my full-face helmet. All in all, my appearance is rather unassuming (which has helped me out quite a few times during the more covert "missions") though it probably won't be for much longer.

"Kryptonian Service Androids of Scout Ship 0344."

"Yes, sir?"

"Are there any methods that you know off that can be carried out with the equipment present on this planet to have my mind transferred to Zod's body?"

"A transplant of your brain and the essential parts of your nervous system is possible, though the surgery on the General's body would require tools capable of piercing a yellow sun-enhanced Kryptonian's skin and musculature."

"I have tools with Kryptonite blades. A material that can negate the benefits a Kryptonian gains from a yellow sun."

"That would make the surgery possible, yes, but the General's body would still have the original trauma which lead to his death. In order to insert your own mind into a living body, you would need to repair-"

"I know that can be done, droid."

"… it is forbidden."

"By whom?"

"It was decreed by the Council of Krypton-"

"And where is this Council?"

"Destroyed, sir."

"Then proceed."

"… very well, sir."

And as the Kryptionian robots took out the Kryptonite tools out of the duffelbag and started cutting open Zod's corpse, I stripped down as well, trying my best to squash any misgivings that lingered in my mind. As a needle containing a strong sedative slipped between the vertebrae of my neck, I realized that there was no sense in worrying anymore: it was too late to turn back now.

As unconsciousness took me, the last I saw was that I was being lowered into the birthing pool right next to Zod's body, while one of the droids came closer, a scalpel with a growing green blade in one of its tentacles.

And then I knew nothing anymore.

* * *

Waking up was an odd experience. At first, I was simply floating in an endless void, no sense of space and time whatsoever. And then I'm suddenly bombarded by light and senses and _noise_ and my surroundings are too tight, I need to get out, I need to get out, out out OUT!

And with a roar, I rip apart my confinements, which give way with wet, tearing sounds. As I stand in what appears to be a pool, blinking sticky liquid from my eyes, I try to remember what the hell happened to me, which turned out to be rather complicated due to the avalanche of noise continuously hammering in my ears.

As I clasped my hands over my ears, and sunk to a knee, I squinted my eyes shut. With the sounds somewhat diminished, and my sight no longer fucked up (I was able to see _through_ the floor!) I slowly try to retrace my steps in order to determine what the actual fuck was going on.

I had been baiting my time, until Lex opened the Genesis Chamber and overrode the central computer, using Zod's prints and Master Key. Then, he turned to me and I shot him in the head. And then-

My eyes fly open as the last few minutes before I went under come back to me.

I had asked for my mind to be placed in Zod's body, which would be repaired to the point that it would be alive again. Slowly removing my hands from the side of my head, I shakily hold them up in front of me.

A sigh explodes from me as I see that the skin is still (fairly) pink, instead of the dull-grey of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle-reject that Warner Bros. dared to pass off as a Doomsday. However, they don't look like my old hands, appearing wholly unfamiliar to me. Looking further down at my (naked) body, I am confronted with seeing a body which is definitely not mine.

The problem is that it doesn't look like Zod's either.

It's larger and more massive than a human, I can tell that with just a glance, though thankfully not to the extent of the original Doomsday. The skin appears to be course, and is definitely paler than normal for a human, but still within the realms of normal-ishness. Moving out of the birthing pool (the movements surprisingly smooth and even a bit familiar) I estimate that I must be at least seven feet tall, probably somewhere around seven and a half.

Feeling something cold go from my scalp all the way down the small of my back, I run a hand over my head. The first thing I notice is that I'm bald. Either the droids shaved Zod's scalp for the procedure, or it fell out during the transformation. It's probably the former, since I still have Zod's goatee. The second thing I notice is the metal plates that are imbedded in my flesh.

Trying to keep my voice even, I call out to the droids, the sound coming from my mouth sounding almost like someone took Michael Shannon's voice and ran it through a voice modulator, tuning it a few octaves lower than usual, the slightest hint of a robotic twang audible to my new ears.

"Kryptonian Service Androids."

"Yes, sir?"

"What has happened to me?"

"Explanation: after removing the central nervous system and primary cortex from Zod's body, extensive repairs were made using both mechanical means and the forbidden gene modifications, with your original body providing the biological donor material. Once repairs had started, your nervous system and cortex were placed inside Zod's body. Your differing systems were linked as much as possible: any further connections would be formed by the transformation process. The open wounds were closed and sealed using mechanical means."

I swallow, before calling out again.

"Let me see."

Immediately, a holographic screen appears in front of me. It's a live feed of my back and it's… somewhat difficult to watch. Back in my old world, there used to be this toy line called Action Man, and I used to own a few action-figures. I barely even remember the name of the villain, but I can recall his design perfectly: he was a cyborg, with one robotic arm and metal plating across his bald skull.

Now, I represent him somewhat. The plating keeping my flesh together, hiding the cut where the droids _ripped out Zod's brain and spine and replaced them with my own_ (oh my fucking God, I'm gonna be sick), continues down the nape of my neck, all the way down to the small of my back, small interlocking plates and hydraulics moving smoothly with my every move.

I struggle to keep my breathing even, clenching and unclenching my fists, trying to get my mind back on track. It's time to see if this was all worth it, after all.

"Android. Continue. What are the capabilities of this body?"

"Unknown at this point, sir. You are unique: the first Kryptionian-human hybrid. There are no records of what happens when another lifeform implants their mind into a Kryptionian body-"

"Just… just give me estimations."

"Estimation: current body should possess physical strength roughly equal to a regular Kryptonian. It likely does not possess the immortal nature of the desecration without name. It likely does not possess the capability of flight. Senses should be on par with a regular Kryptonian. Due to retaining much of Zod's original nervous system, parts of his ingrained muscle-memory should still be present, meaning at your current stage, you possess combat capabilities surpassing 86% of all recorded Kryptonians. Current body is less susceptible to the negative effects of Kryptonite, but it is still deadly. Current body dimensions: height: 235,32 centimeters. Weight: 286 kilograms. Muscle to Fat Ratio-"

"Alright, that's enough. Thank you."

Without a sound, the android drifts further away from me, awaiting further orders as my eyes remain transfixed on my mechanical spine. It sucks that I don't have Adaptive Regeneration (arguably one of the most broken superpowers ever, the very thing that made Doomsday such a huge threat) or flight, but given the sheer _power_ I can feel coursing through this body, I think the trade-off is more than fair.

Wanting to test something, I walk over to the nearest wall, pull back my fist and without feeling any noteworthy resistance, slam it through the metallic wall of the Genesis Chamber. I watch in awe as my arm shows no sign of having obliterated multiple inches of alien-grade steel as if it was nothing, and I find that I can move it to the sides or up (digging deep furrows in the wall as the sound of tearing metal screeches throughout the room) as easily as one would wave their arm through the air.

Pulling back my arm, I allow a grin to stretch across my face as I turn to face the droid who didn't react to my act of vandalism.

"Droid. Synthesize a suit for me."

"Acknowledged, sir."

After all, I wasn't going to safeguard my plan for survival in the nude, now was I?

* * *

While my new clothes were being fabricated (a job which should take a little under ten minutes) I ordered one of the other drones to update me on the current situation outside of the ship. In the original timeline, Lex (I briefly wince when I think of his cooling corpse that's currently being disposed off by the ships recycling systems) would've started the birthing process of Doomsday and then go and kidnap Lois.

He already had Martha kidnapped and holed up with Anatoli Knyazev (I should know, I coordinated that operation), and the pictures sent to him (which were now in my hands).

After getting his hands on Lois, he'd throw her off a building, causing Superman to fly in and rescue her, which would allow Lex to confront Supes and blackmail him into fighting Batman by threatening Martha.

Of course, while Batman was (probably) still rearing for a fight with (basically) a god, the whole "blackmailing Superman" thing hadn't happened. So what had been going on while I was being transformed into a superbeing?

As it turned out, Batman had still challenged Superman by lighting his signal in the sky. Superman… stood him up.

Apparently, Clark had heard his mother's breathing or heartbeat or whatever, and deduced a couple of lowlifes had kidnapped her.

There was a giant sinkhole where the warehouse once used to be.

Afterwards, Clark had either flown his mother to her home in Kansas, or to his and Lois' apartment and was still with her. Batsy had noticed Clark's little temper-tantrum of course, and had left his stage as well, probably trying to track down Superman.

Which brings us to the here and now, right as I finish putting on the suit that the droids had just finished manufacturing for me (a matte, steel-grey without any insignia). Because Bruce has just found Clark, if the various feeds that the droids have hijacked are anything to go by.

I watch on the holographic screen as the Batwing races away from Metropolis at top speed, a small shape flitting through the sky behind it, Superman in hot pursuit. Apparently, Bruce disturbed some mother-son bonding time, and the resident alien isn't all too happy about it.

Clark is hanging back a bit though, probably worried about cracking every single window in his wake if he goes too fast. However, after only a few moments, they clear the edges of the city and he accelerates towards the Batwing with a sonic boom. Right as he's about to grab the back of the flying vehicle, a small pallet flies directly in his face from some hidden compartment, and his head is briefly surrounded by a sickly green smoke.

Clark immediately starts to plummet and fall behind, though given how little he had actually breathed in, he won't be weakened for too long. Bruce takes advantage of this and floors it, the Batwing continuing its mad dash towards the part of Gotham that I recognize as the place that the two of them fought in in the movie.

Seems like I needed to get a move on. I start walking towards the exit of the ship, calling over my shoulder as I slowly pick up speed.

"Droids. Get this ship as close to working order as you can. Await my return. Do not accept any order other than from me."

"Acknowledged, sir."

And by then I'm off. The walls should be blurring with the speeds that I'm reaching (definitely above highway speeds now, I should be in supercar or motorsport ranges) but everything is in crystal clear clarity, as I make impossibly sharp turns. If I had flight I would've blasted my way out of here already and been halfway to Gotham, but you can't have everything I suppose.

Sometimes in life, you just have to settle for being a superhuman being capable of running several hundred miles an hour, lift hundreds of tons without strain and clear skyscrapers in a single bound.

That first jump was… _exhilarating_. I had just ran out of the ship's main entrance, my feet slamming into the concrete of the surrounding plaza. Without halting my step, I bent at the knees, gathered my strength, and _pushed_. For the first few moments, as the ground erupted in an explosion in the wake of my take-off and I slammed through the soundbarrier, I thought that I actually did have flight, before I reached the top of my arc. After several long moments of weightlessness (during which I crossed an entire city-block), I descended again.

The moment I impacted the ground, causing a shockwave and an eruption of gravel, I pushed off again, ruining the ground beneath my feet even further.

Hauling ass like I did, I left the outskirts of Metropolis within moments, reaching the edge where the city meets the Hob's River, the divide between the City of Tomorrow and Gotham. With a final mighty jump, I leap into the nightsky, my eyes fixed on the cesspool at the other end of the bay.

As I start to descend (around the middle of the bay) I angle my body downwards, and in a picture-perfect dive, cut through the surface of the body of water. Almost reaching the bottom, I angle my body upwards again, and start swimming at top speed, doing a fairly accurate impression of Aquaman. However, where he and other Atlanteans leave neat torpedo-like trails in the water, I leave an _enormous_ wake in my… well, wake.

Within moments, I'm approaching the docks of Gotham, and with a firm stroke of my arms and legs, I burst out of the water, ascending high into the sky in a gentle arc, before I slam down onto a deserted road. The sound of battle quickly reaches my ears, and I doesn't take me long to zoom in on the two greatest heroes of the DC Universe duking it out.

Peering through the walls of several warehouses, I see that they are on the third floor. I watch as Bruce once again detonates one of his Kryptonite-smoke bombs in his enemies' face. Clark, looking rather worse for wear, seems to have wizened up though, as he claps his hands together, dispersing the deadly cloud. That doesn't save him from an armored boot to the face though, the Kryptonite gas seeming to weaken him just through skin-contact as well.

Still, Clark is a Kryptonian, and weakened or not, he's still very dangerous as Bruce finds out when Superman surges forwards and tackles him over the balustrade, the two of them falling all the way down to the ground floor.

Even as they're falling I'm already running forwards, my feet cracking the pavement. My eyes are locked onto the struggling forms of Batman and Superman, to the point that I hardly even notice as I run _through_ the surrounding buildings in a straight line to the two superheroes.

Batman has disentangled himself and has managed to get his hands on the Kryptonite spear, but Superman isn't bothering with holding his punches this time. His eyes glow red, and two beams of light slam into Batman's chest, lifting the man clear off his feet and sending him flying for several feet.

Despite being severely weakened, Clark's beams are still powerful enough to leave glowing marks on Bruce's armor. The man is made out of sterner stuff than most mortals, as he powers through the pain and works himself back to his feet. Clark is still struggling to move, but his eyes glow red again as he snarls at Batman.

Bruce proves to be a fast learner and throws himself in a roll, the red beams ending up tearing two large holes in his cape. The roll brings him closer to Clark's prone form, and he raises his spear, his entire form lunging forwards, gleaming green tip first.

He's halted by Clarks' hand shooting up and clasping firmly around the shaft, keeping the Bat in place with herculean effort. The two lock eyes and bare their teeth at each other, glowing white eyes versus glowing red eyes.

I could just let this play out and pick off whoever was left standing of course (assuming there _was_ someone left standing). However, since _one_ word was enough to make them go from mortal enemies to buddies, I'm not taking any chances.

Due to Lex's death (my chest tightens involuntarily) Lois hasn't been kidnapped and so _should_ be still chasing down leads on the LexCorp bullet that killed Jimmy Olsen, but you never know with that woman-shaped Plot Device.

Better to be safe than sorry.

These two superheroes would never approve of what I had done to myself, and they would oppose me in the future. They would have to go.

Brickwork explodes into dust as I slam into the warehouse, making a beeline for where Batman is standing above Superman. To their credit, the both of them are already reacting to me before the dust even has a chance to settle, but one is far too weakened to act in time, while the other is simply far too human.

Within the span of a second, I've crossed the entirety of the open warehouse, deep craters in my wake. Bruce has almost turned to look over his shoulder, giving Clark the chance to start moving the spear away, but then I slam into Batman's back, my arms coming up and taking hold of the spear.

I can already feel myself getting sick (it's somewhat comparable to combining every single instance of motion-sickness you've ever experienced in your entire life, simultaneously, times a hundred), but I keep moving and the gleaming tip buries itself deep into Clark's chest.

Despite having a cyborg human-Kryption hybrid slam into his back, Bruce is already moving, his hand flashing towards a grenade hanging from one of his belts.

I'm faster.

A backhand sends him flying, but before he can impact the wall I've shot forwards. I hook my fingers behind the belt holding the smoke grenades and I come to a sudden halt. Batman keeps moving and the belt gives way with a dry snap. His armored form slams into the brickwork, before the superhero falls to the ground with a pained groan.

Taking no chances, I active all the grenades before throwing the belt to Superman's still body, causing it to be enveloped in a cloud of green gas. I quickly refocus on Batman, who has worked himself to his knees. He moves to take something from his back, but I don't want to give him any opportunity to counter-attack.

I shoot forwards, time seeming to slow down to a crawl as Batman almost appears to move in slow-motion. Getting through the armor might just hold me up long enough for him to pull some bullshit Kryptonian countermeasure out of his ass.

So I go for the one part that Batman (almost) _never_ covers.

My hand shoots into his mouth.

I slam through his teeth, and probably give him scars somewhat similar to his greatest nemesis. Then my fingers dig down through his tongue into the tissue below and I rip out Bruce Wayne's jaw straight from his head.

He gurgles as he slides down the wall, and knowing the type of man I'm dealing with, I don't stand around to watch him die up close. Instead, I run to the other end of the warehouse, and just in time as well.

In a great ball of fire, which is slightly colored green at the edges, Batman's body explodes, sending Kryptonite shrapnel flying. Thankfully, my paranoia meant that I remained out of the reach of the explosion, and I'm still fine.

Figures that Bats would rather suicide-bomb his opponent than give up.

I peer through the fire at the remains of his suit, just to make certain that he hasn't escaped at the very last second (as ridiculous as it sounds, this _is_ Batman. He has survived worse). I nod in satisfaction when I see the armor slumped forwards, the hole where Bruce's jaw used to be showing that he had perished inside, instead of leaving the armor as a decoy or something.

Now, for the other man who has a penchant to ignore death.

Considering that I don't want a post-credit scene with dirt ominously rising from his coffin, I decide I require something a bit more… _permanent_ , than a neat little stabwound in the chest. By now, the gas has dissipated (though I still feel sick when I approach the body) and Clark still hasn't moved, his expression frozen in one of shock (reminding me uncomfortably of Lex).

I power through the feeling of my stomach fighting its way up past my esophagus, while my limbs feel as if they're made of match sticks, and rip the spear from his chest. I critically look at the gaping wound, and when it doesn't miraculously start to close up, I stab him in the forehead just to be certain.

Then I cut off his head.

It's as bloody and as messy as it sounds, and the whole time I'm nearly passing out due to being so close to the Kryptonite.

Still, between the remainder of my strength and the same weakening effect applying to Clark's corpse, I'm done with my grisly task within moments. The moment his head comes loose, I dash away from the Kryptonite spear as fast as possible, sliding down against the far wall as I take in deep, steadying breaths.

As I sit there, with the world's greatest hero's decapitated head clenched inbetween my bloodied hands, a thought suddenly comes to me.

Now what?

Batman's body is unsalvageable, and even if it had been, it was unlikely he had anything on him that the computers back at the Kryptonian Scout Ship didn't have as well, if not something even better. But Superman... within his body lies the Codex, the genetic databank of all Kryptonians. Zod had believed that with the Codex in hand, and a planet terraformed to suitable conditions, he could ressurect his race.

I don't particularly feel like raising a race of alien gods from the dead right now, though the option might become interesting once I've found a way to have complete control over the newborn Kryptonians.

An army of Supermen at my beck and call... building myself a body from the greatest specimens the Kryptonians have ever known... tempting, not gonna lie.

For now though? All I'm interested in is that Plot doesn't find some ridiculous way to raise Clark from the dead (for instance, through getting together a certain speedster and a certain MotherBox and some flimsy explanation to justify his bullshit resurrection).

That means, getting rid of the head.

For a moment, I think of the best way to go about this, before I grab the head in my hand and run away from the warehouse heading straight for the waterline. I wind up my arm, and in a great discus-throw, I shoot Clark's head over the horizon.

It'll land somewhere downriver, and be carried off with the stream. Maybe it'll be carried out all the way to sea, or it'll decompose or get eaten up or something. If it somehow remains whole, then it'll wait for me at the bottom of the sea, just in case I might end up needing it down the line for whatever reason. All I know is that Superman won't miraculously return from the dead in order for a bout of good ol' fisticuffs with me.

I remain standing in thought on Gotham's docks, watching as the sun slowly starts to rise, filling me with new energy and the realization that I am now the most powerful being on the planet.

And all it took, was letting myself be corrupted and twisted by one of the most vile men on the planet for the past twenty years, betray him even though I was probably the only person he has ever trusted, and order alien drones to rip my brain form my body and implant it into a corpse.

And I can't stop now.

As much as I want to run off to Superman's Fortress of Solitude and just... _relax_ for the coming hundred years or so, I know that I cannot rest. There are still too many loose ends for me to let my guard down and enjoy my newfound power and pseudo-immortality.

Alfred, as much as it saddens me, would have to go. Bruce was like a son to him, and he probably knows by now that he's dead. He might even know it was me if there had been a feed from the armor to the Batcave.

With the weaponry at his disposal, not to mention any possible leftover Kryptonite, Alfred might actually become a threat to me.

Thankfully, Bruce didn't have anyone else, so there was no further... clean-up, required on his end. Clark though...

I had no trouble killing off Lois. I never liked her, not in any of her appearances in shows, movies or comics. Of course, dislike is a petty and _evil_ reason to just off someone, but I am-... I _was_ Lex Luthor's closest friend.

Pettiness and evil have been a part of my life ever since I knocked on the Luthor Residence's door.

Still, there's _some_ justification for getting her out of my way: she's a reporter. Meaning she'd investigate Clark's death, and might even end up tracing it back to me somehow. More importantly than that, was that Lois Lane was a living Plot Device. I was utterly convinced that if she remained alive, she would cause trouble for me _somewhere_ down the line in _some_ fashion.

Hell, she just might birth Clark's kid, who'll grow up to hate me, train with some far off, ancient master, knock on my door and say: "Hello. My name is Jonathan Bruce Kent. You killed my father. Prepare to die."

Which of course would mean I'd have to kill the kid and I don't really want to do that.

So yeah, bye Lois. You'll be missed (by _someone_ at least, I presume).

Martha... her _name_ alone had been enough to change the events of history and to unite the greatest heroes this planet had ever seen. Could I just let her live, allow the poor woman to deal with her grief in peace?

Maybe.

Was I going to take that chance?

... No. No I wasn't. The woman was innocent, but as long as she lived, she might end up involved in Clark's ressurection somehow, and I cannot allow that.

She had to go as well.

The Daily Planet... I would keep an eye on. Should they start digging into the deaths of their top reporters and get anywhere near an approximation of the truth, I'd simply buy the company and fire them all.

Being Lex's guardian angel comes with a hefty paycheck, I have found, especially when you barely touch it.

As I check off the depressing list, the sun keeps charging me, and paradoxally, as dark as my thoughts are, I have physically never felt better.

Some people say that they feel they can take on the whole world as a metaphor for how they feel.

If I said it, it wouldn't be a metaphor.

Who else was there? Who would need to go in order for me to live a long life of peace?

Wonder Woman came to mind.

In the original timeline, the destruction of Doomsday rampaging through Metropolis brought her back. Now, it was very likely that she was still on her plane. However, she had held some sort of fondness for Bruce or something, so if she found out that I had killed him...

Besides, she was the most powerful of the Amazons. With the waves I was probably going to make in the normal world, they might deem me a threat and send her after me anyways.

Since she has ties to magic (a weakness to Kryptonians) she might end up being a credible threat to me.

She too would have to go.

Barry Allen? An impressionable kid, who doesn't have the sheer physical damage to hurt me personally, though his speed might end up interfering with my future operations. Still, he's young and easily swayed. I'd prefer talking to him instead of killing him.

Arthur Curry? Is perfectly fine living his life on his own terms, helping out fishermen where he goes, drinking with whoever he likes and generally just having a good time. He'd probably dislike me just due to our personalities not meshing, but I don't see him raising up arms against me without provocation.

Speaking about provocation, Orm and the Atlanteans. If I could track down his mother and the Trident of Atlantis, he'll probably end up following me. Peace between the land and the sea could be established, incidentally averting the event that could possibly bring Arthur into conflict with me as well.

Viktor Stone? A kid with severe self-image issues and a language stuck in his head only I can help him understand. Still, the modifications I had done to myself might end up helping him get over his own issues, or make him dislike me, so I'd have to take care with how I approach that one. Still, as one of the few that can fully interface with the Motherboxes, he'd be useful to keep alive.

Then there was the Joker. He'd probably go nuts over the fact that someone killed his BFF, and since he has Plot Armor as a superpower, he'll eventually figure out it was me and come at me armed to the teeth with a stash of Kryptonite he pulled out of his ass.

The most dangerous thing about the madman is _time_ (rather ironically, the same could be said for Bruce before he blew himself to bits). Give him enough time to prep and he could spell some real trouble for me down the line. Now, however, he was still unaware of Bruce's death and my existance, so I should track him down as soon as possible, and squash his head like a grape.

Kill Harley as well, as she'll probably be at his side and freak out over his death. Sure, she's hot and if I was twenty years younger and still ruled by my hormones I'd be salivating to have her on my team, but I held on fast to one of the most important rules a man could ever learn: NEVER stick your Flügelschlagen in crazy.

Other than her hotness, she had no real value to me, so there was nothing lost with killing her off. The rest of the Suicide Squad... Deadshot might be handy to recruit, if only to avoid him being hired by someone to shoot me in the head with a Kryptonite bullet they pulled out of their ass (seriously, I already know that I can spend the next fifty years tracking down every last gram of the stuff, and it'll _still_ show up at the most inopportune moment possible _somehow_ ).

Same reasoning applies to Deathstroke.

Both of 'em work for money, and I got plenty to spare. If they become more trouble than they're worth, dealing with them would be the work of a mere moment.

Most of the other members of the Suicide Squad weren't even worth considering, with a few exceptions.

Katana, if only out of academic curiosity at how her sword was capable of containing a soul, and whether or not the process could be repeated with a more... _suitable_ container.

El Diablo, due to his sheer power.

And the Enchantress, though again, keeping the Flügelschlagen-rule in mind. Sure, she was crazier than a bag filled with cats high on Joker Venom, but she was also undeniably powerful. If she could be controlled, she could prove herself to be an asset.

Especially if she can teach me Magic.

And after all that... after I had killed off or manipulated anyone who could ever be a threat to me... I'd finally be done. I'd have achieved my dream of having become a god-like being, who would never have to fear for his life ever again.

Who could walk this Earth in peace, and maybe even unite and rule it as a God-King if it just so happened to catch my fancy.

And should anyone come knocking on my door, be they some mad dog like Steppenwolf, or a credible threat like Darkseid? Then I'll teach them to leave _my_ planet the fuck alone for the rest of eternity.

Easy, right?

I crack my neck as I let out a deep sigh, the sun shining on my face and empowering me. I have a lot of work to do before I can enjoy being semi-immortal, but there's no time like the present. I turn towards the ruined warehouse, still housing Clark's corpse and the valuable genetic information locked inside.

Time to start the clean-up.

And after that... I'm going clown-hunting.

* * *

 **Fun Fact:** Batman v Superman was originally pitched in 2001 by writer Akiva Goldman. For whatever reason, the project ended up being dropped and was instead replaced by Nolan's _Dark Knight_ trilogy. Goldman, when he wrote and produced _I am Legend_ (2007) snuck his original pitch into the movie: there's a poster for a Batman vs. Superman movie on one of the buildings.

 **AN:** So yeah, this is another one of my plotbunnies. I will publish the others first, and then either return to 12 Steps, or one of my older stories. As for the plotbunnies avalanche, I feel that this one is the most manageable. It should take Mike Masters (the SI) just another four or five chapters before reaching Physical God-status (I won't be going for the same level of omnipotence as in 12 Steps because the DCEU hasn't shown anything on the level of the Infinity Stones so far). Also, I've been trying to find pictures of Dr. X (the Action Man villain), and I can't find the name of the version that I had as a kid, but apparently, Dr. X usually _didn't_ have the metal plating on his head. Oh well. The more you know.

 _Tremendous shout-out to my beloved Patrons: Miu, Justlovereadin, Daniel Dorfman, Carn Krauss, Samuel Carson, Thordur Hrafn and ReaperScythe! Your continued support means a lot to me, thank you so much!_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Making some changes**_

* * *

Slinging Clark's corpse over my shoulder (the traces of kryptonite in his stab wound were enough to make me ill, but I pushed through it) I shoot Bruce's burning husk one last look. I have never been a fan of Batman, but I had grown up with him.

 _Twice_ , even.

I didn't agree with his beliefs, but by God did I respect the way that he held to them. Giving his corpse a dip of my head, I feel an odd melancholy come over me as I stand amidst the remains of the greatest heroes this universe has ever known.

"I _am_ sorry, Bruce. But coexistence was never an option. Not between us."

And with those words, I bend my knees and blast out of the ruined warehouse. Retracing my steps is easy enough as the day starts getting brighter and brighter. I'm sure I'm spotted by more than a few people, but the ordinary humans aren't of any real concern to me.

What are they gonna do to me? Arrest me? I'd like to see the cop dumb enough to try.

Within minutes, I've arrived back at the Kryptonian Scout Ship. I had hoped that it would at least be able to fly by now, but I guess that it was more banged up than I had initially realized. Still, most of the lights were back on, so that was a plus at least.

A drawback to the increased activity of the ship was that there was a small platoon stationed not even a hundred yards away from the entrance, guns at the ready. An annoyance, one which would could be dealt with quickly.

I descend from my arc high through the air, still riding the energy of my latest jump, landing perfectly in front of the entrance to the ship in a great explosion of gravel and dust. Of course, the humans immediately start panicking, and my sensitive ears pick up the sound of multiple guns being cocked.

Straightening, I shoot them a look over my shoulder, as I see one of the higher-ups grab for a megaphone (not that he would need it, as I could hear him whisper under his breath even from this distance).

He starts yelling through the megaphone, not quite able to keep a tremor out of his voice as he orders me to stand down or something (I don't really care enough to bother with listening to his panicked babbling).

Letting Clark's corpse fall off my shoulder, I briefly scan the torn up ground around me. The commander, seeing that he's being ignored, ups his volume, but I just tune him out. My eyes quickly find what I had been looking for, and I bend forwards to pick up a chunk of rock that fits comfortably in my hand.

"He's got a weapon! Fire! Fire! Fire!"

A staccato of thunderous noise and flashing lights erupts from their frontline, about a third of the bullets not even impacting me. Those that do flatten themselves on my body as if they were made out of tinfoil. I simply stand there tanking the bullets for a few seconds, after which the spray of projectiles starts to die off.

As the soldiers and I stare at each other (them with terrified expression, me with the tiniest smirk) I lift my hand holding the rock. At the motion, most of the soldiers immediately throw themselves to the ground.

However, they have nothing to fear from me, not right now at least. There's nothing to be gained but inconvenience if I were to kill a score of US Military soldiers. So instead I aim at the turret mounted on the back of one of their humvees.

The moment the piece of rock leaves my hand, it shoots forwards in a ball of flaming stone, the friction of slamming through multiple sound barriers within mere seconds sufficient to start melting it and igniting the air surrounding it.

It looks kinda like a miniature meteor, if said meteor was the size of my fist and flying horizontally, that is.

With the sound of an explosion and the screech of tearing metal, the rock sheers the turret clean off the humvee, leaving a trail of molten metal in its wake. None of the humans are harmed, though they are looking terrified out of their minds (the commander has dropped his megaphone).

In the stunned silence following my "attack" I can't help myself.

Taking a step forwards (causing them to collectively take a step back) I raise my fist at them as I gain a thunderous expression, lighting up my eyes for good measure.

"Get the hell off mah lawn!"

Seeing the dumbfounded expressions on their faces, I can't help but chuckle as I turn away from them, grabbing Clark's body and making my way inside the ship, it's automatic blast doors closing smoothly behind me.

The drones are somewhere in the ship, but I'm pretty sure they can still hear me so I call out to them.

"Service Droids!"

"Yes sir?" a voice sounds from hidden speakers in the walls, like Krypton's version of Jarvis.

"Place this body in storage. It contains the Codex: extract it."

"Yes sir."

"How long until the ship is fully operational?"

"Estimation: Error. Current resources are insufficient to repair ship to it's full operational status. Multiple systems will remain offline until the necessary resources have been gathered. Current offline systems: Shield emitters. Anti-Grav modules. Battle stations. Cloaking-"

"Alright, thank you. Scan this planet for the materials required to repair the ship, then send the list to me. I'll see what I can aquire."

"Yes sir. Please hold for five minutes for a mobile communications device to be fabricated."

"Very well. Update me if outside forces are attempting a breach."

"Yes sir."

Clark's body secured for now, I focus on my next objective. The ship is durable enough that the Army would need to bring out their big guns in order to make their way inside and I should be able to shoot to the ship's defence in time to defend it from the worst the US Military could field.

I could start negotiating with the US Government to leave me the hell alone, but that would take time, time my potential enemies could use to prepare for my downfall. No, I had to strike the iron while it was still hot. Most of Bruce's and Clark's loose ends were still unaware of their deaths: I had to get rid of them while they were still off guard.

Back to Gotham I go then.

Making my way outside five minutes later, an earpiece now resting comfortably on my head, I spot a single soldier making their way towards me in a hurry. He seems unarmed and his fatigues differ from the outfit of the rest of the platoon. Either a superior or a runner from another division then.

I'm about to ignore him, turning away from him as I prepare to rush towards Gotham, but his shout halts me in my tracks.

"Wait!"

What catches my attention is that it is phrased less as an order but more of a plea. Intrigued despite the clock ticking away, I turn back towards the lone soldier, who seems relieved I haven't jumped a block away from him.

"I don't like being told what to do." I rumble at him, causing the color to leave his cheeks, though to his credit his posture remains the picture perfect standard of military precision.

"I understand sir. I won't hold you up for long, I promise. However, my superiors… have a few _questions_ -"

"And what if I'm not in the mood for answering questions?"

The kid (and he is a kid, barely older than twenty, fresh-faced and wide-eyed) swallows briefly before he soldiers (heh) on.

"We would understand, sir. But we would _really_ like some answers. This is all very… _unprecedented_."

"No it isn't. The Government, the Army, the whole _world_ stood idly by and watched when the Kryptonians walked the Earth, engaging in clashes that leveled a good part of this very city. Now, _I_ am the Last Kryptonian, and once again, the Government and the Army will stand idly by and _watch_. There shall be _no_ interference in my affairs _whatsoever_ , or I'll repeat the feats of Zod… and _this_ time, there is no Superman to save you. Tell _that_ to your superiors." I seethe as I loom over the young soldier, playing up the fear factor as much as possible.

Of course, some crude threats aren't nearly enough to hammer out some accord between me and the US (or the rest of the world's governments, for that matter) but hopefully it'll buy me enough time to take out the real players first.

Amazingly, while I can smell his fear, the kid doesn't even take a single step away from me, looking me straight in the eye as he gives a crisp salute.

"Yes sir!"

Somewhat impressed, I raise an eyebrow at him, amusement welling up inside me as he remains standing like that, trembling hand raised to his sweating brow.

"What's your name son?"

"Adam, sir! Nathaniel Adam!"

My other eyebrow rises as well, as I look at a man who in most versions of this universe had become one of the most powerful beings in existence. Catpain Atom, in the living flesh (a rarity for him).

Since he's not a living mass of energy contained in a metallic alloy (and in the wrong Military branch, as I distinctly remember his origin story revealing he was Air Force before being "killed") I suppose that _the_ Captain Atom might still be a while off… if he even will exist in this universe at all.

Putting inter-dimensional differences out of my mind, I offer the young man a slight grin.

"At ease soldier. Report back to your superiors and let them kick my message up the chain: dealing with the likes of _me_ is way over your paygrade kid."

And with that that little nugget of wisdom, I turn away from Nathaniel Adam, bend my knees and blast off, soaring through the skies for a few long moments before I crash down to Earth again, my legs pumping away as my surroundings vanish in a blur.

Again, reaching Gotham is a matter of mere minutes. Finding a clown with a twisted sense of humor is another matter entirely. However, the lay of the criminal underworld wasn't entirely unknown to me, as I had had to perform plenty of missions there for Luthor.

The Joker had been active ever since my teenage years (and had consequently been responsible for a whole different slew of nightmares when I first saw his victims on the news, up until my body count began to rival his) and while the madman was notoriously elusive (giving even Batman the slip on multiple occasions, though he _did_ do a stint in Arkham) it was generally agreed upon by internet forums and criminology experts alike that the Joker had various haunts spread throughout the slums and docks of Gotham.

And I probably had the best senses on the planet right now.

It was still early morning, which meant that it was late for the Gotham night-life. Still, I should be able to track the major hubs of activity in the surrounding areas. Relying on my hearing (which seemed to be capable of picking up sounds from multiple city blocks away with ridiculous ease) I started tracking down the still open drug dens and underground parties, hopping from rooftop to rooftop as I made my way further and further towards the docks.

I was about to turn away from the waterside and loop towards the other outskirts of the city centre when a particular sound caught my attention. Had I heard it while I had still been human it might have inspired unease within me, but now I merely felt amusement.

It was a laugh.

I had found my target.

Making a sharp turn at the top of a dilapidated building, causing a spray of gravel, I rush towards the edge of the roof, pushing off at the last moment with enough force that part of its facade crumbles away in my wake. Soaring over several rows of abandoned warehouses and grimy back alleys, I land with a thunderous crash in an abandoned street that would've looked right at home in a Blade movie when the titular badass stumbled on yet another vampire den.

What was inside the building I had landed in front of was _far_ more dangerous than a mere vampire however. My crash landing had rattled the surrounding buildings down to their foundations, so I wasn't surprised that when I approached the steel door of the seemingly abandoned building, a bouncer burst outside, hand on the gun at his waist.

The moment his eyes land on me and widen in shock, it's already too late for him: I've crossed the several feet between us faster than he can blink, nonchalantly giving his chest a firm shove, sending him flying back into the building with a shattered ribcage.

I have no issue with getting _him_ out of my way with such force due to spotting several tattoos on him that signified his status as a Joker henchman (the predictable playing cards, HA HA's and smiles of course).

Nobody was going to mourn his passing.

Nobody who _mattered_ anyways.

Ducking through the door opening, I find myself in a darkly lit hallway which leads into the main dance floor of the underground club, if the strobing and colored lights that I can see flashing from around the corner are any indication.

Plus, you know, there's the fact that I had already looked through the entire building with my X-Ray Vision before I had even stepped foot inside.

Continuing at a brisk pace, I pass the corpse of the bouncer where he is embedded in the far wall, rounding the corner and emerging onto the dancefloor of Joker's little club. I waste no time cutting across the dance floor, most of the people quickly clearing a path for me when they see me approach. Those who had their backs to me (and those who are simply too far gone to notice me) I shoulder out of my way with ease.

I ignore the shocked gaps of those who see the plating across my head and neck, ignore the choked off protests of those I pushed out of my way when they see who they are dealing with, ignore the way the music suddenly cuts out, a deathly silence settling over the club.

I ignore it all, instead keeping my attention focused on a single man.

And he's looking back at me with equal intensity.

Predictably, instead of looking worried or angry, he merely looks intrigued, and he quickly starts chuckling, which erupts into full-blown laughter as his eyes slide past me and spot the dead bouncer.

"Oh my! _What_ a prize do we have here?!" he laughs with manic glee as he jumps up from the couch he had been lounging on, his arms spread out wide.

Then suddenly his laugh cuts off, and his head whips back in my direction with a speed that almost makes me think he snapped his own neck, his voice now low and sultry.

"What's your name, big boy?"

Deciding to have a little fun with the man who scared me for so much of my second childhood (when he had been fictional, I had simply dismissed him as an overrated character with an annoying shtick who's main audience were edgy teenagers. That view had done a 180 when I had seen his flayed victims on Fox News), I merely give out a small smile as I keep approaching him.

"I don't really think it's _my_ name you should be interested in, _Joker_."

He _really_ doesn't like the fact that I'm not playing his game, his chin dipping as he stares at me from underneath his eyebrows with dead eyes promising the worst kinds of torture man has ever conceived.

Undaunted, I walk up the short stairs to his VIP area, my hands kept loosely at my side.

"No, there's _another_ man's name that is _far_ more interesting, I think you'll agree."

I come to a halt mere feet away from him as he starts pacing, though his murderous eyes never leave mine.

" _Really_ now…." he drawls, briefly pulling back his red lips, exposing his silver teeth.

"And who is this other person? This, nameless man, who's oh so interesting?" he asks, his tone becoming more growling as he starts losing his patience in the face of my calm demeanor.

"A mutual acquaintance of ours." I reply, and now I can't keep a full-blown grin from forming on my face.

"Goes by the name of… _Bruce_."

At the name of his greatest nemesis, Joker comes to a halt, the menacing aura from before vanishing within the blink of an eye as he straightens and stares at me with an expression of shock. I can tell from his micro-expressions that he's trying to deny what I'm implying, but my knowing smirk is enough to tell him what he needs to know.

"What… did you _do_?" He breathes, his eyes as wide as they'll go, his hands trembling.

Seeing the man who had caused me so many nightmares during my second lifetime look up at me like a parent or a lover bracing themselves to hear the bad news they already suspect in their heart, fills me with a savage joy.

I wasn't the nicest guy in the world. Even before Luthor sunk his claws deeper and deeper into my psyche with every passing day. Still, that didn't meant that I _enjoyed_ the suffering of others. It was the one thing that I had clung to as I sunk deeper and deeper into evil at Lex's side, the one thing that proved to myself that I wasn't as far gone as the _real_ monsters of this world.

But for the psychotic piece of shit in front of me? A man who had inflicted so much pain and suffering on the world for no other purpose than his own sick amusement?

I'd be happy to stretch his torment to the end of days.

It's the reason why I hadn't simply thrown a rock through his head with pinpoint accuracy from a mile away once I had spotted him in this building. The man who had caused me so many sleepless nights, who had had a part in cementing my belief that my daunting Plan was the _only_ way to guarantee my survival, deserved a more… _personal_ send-off.

I take a step closer to him, my grin growing even wider as I drop my voice to a low whisper.

"I killed him, Joker. In his moment of triumph… when his back was turned, I descended upon him as he had done so many times upon you and yours... it was so _easy_ … like swatting a fly-"

"NO!" the Joker screams in horror as he backs away from me, eyes wild and rolling as he tries to deny the fact that one of (if not _the_ ) defining factor of his life, of his very _identity_ was taken from him.

"No, no, no no nonononono!" He screams, grasping at his temples as saliva sprays from his lips with each desperate chant.

"Search your feelings! You know it to be true! _I_ killed him! _I_ snapped his body like a twig!"

"Shut up!"

 _I_ tore his jaw straight from his fucking head! _ME_!"

"Shut _up_!"

"Your _beloved_ Batman, crushed and reduced to nothing but ashes! By! _ME_! You'll _never_ get to play your little games with him anymore Joker! All because of _me_!"

"SHUT UP!" the crazed maniac roars with anguish in his voice, ripping a long knife from the back of his belt, rushing forwards and raking it across my throat with blinding speed.

Had I still been human, even with my decades of training, the sheer speed, savagery and unexpectedness of the attack were _still_ sufficient enough that I probably would've been bleeding out just from the Joker's opening strike.

But I was _far_ from human.

The Joker is panting, looking up at me with crazed eyes and a painfully large smile, chuckles slipping past his clenched silver teeth. Slowly, the chuckles die off as his eyes turn from manic glee to outright confusion.

He looks from my unblemished throat to the blade in his hand and then back to my throat again. He briefly tests the edge of the blade against his thumb, and when it immediately draws blood, he nods in satisfaction before once again striking out as fast as a snake (which to me looks as if he's moving in slow-motion).

The blade scrapes uselessly across my chest, and the two follow up strikes against my abdomen accomplish equally little.

He gives a hateful snarl as he pants, looking up at my clearly amused form, before he lets out a challenging roar and dashes forwards, both hands wrapped firmly around the handle of his long knife. As he stabs towards my stomach, the blade snaps upon impact with the Kryptonian suit, and the enhanced flesh underneath.

The Joker is panting as he looks at his broken blade, before he throws it away with a scream of animalistic rage (the knife nearly lodges itself in the back of the DJ's head), closing in on me until our chests are touching, his face drawn in a snarl as he looks up at me.

"HE WASN'T YOURS TO TAKE! HE! WAS! _MINE_!"

My grin turns sharp as I lean forwards.

"That's just the thing Joker: I just plain don't give a shit about you, or what you want. Not anymore."

He has just enough time to turn red with sheer rage before my arm shoots forwards, my hand slamming _into_ his chest. His face turns into an expression of pained shock as blood starts flowing down my forearm and pools onto the floor.

He lets out a pained gasp as I effortlessly lift my arm up, with him impaled on it, until his legs are left dangling three feet off the floor.

For a moment, the Joker and I merely look in each others eyes, my expression one of satisfaction, his one of pain and rage. A horrified scream breaks us out of staring contest thought.

Glancing to the side, I see the ever beautiful Margot Robbie in torn clothes and under a heavy layer of make-up, staring in horror as her lover is hoisted up in the air by a behemoth of a man, who has his hand buried in her lover's chest.

Grinning, I speak up.

"Good news, Miss Quinzel! As it turns out, the Joker _does_ have a heart! I have the proof right here in my hand!" I say with a laugh, causing Harley's shocked eyes to shift towards me instead, tears starting to flow down her cheeks.

I'm taken off guard by the sound of chuckling, and I look in surprise at the grinning face of the Joker, blood spilling past his teeth and flowing down his chin.

"T-that… was p-pretty… funny." he chokes out, manic grin still firmly in place.

For a moment, the two of us simply stare at each other.

"Thanks. Asshole."

And with that, I clench my hand into a fist, pulverizing most of his vital organs, causing a torrent of blood to erupt from his mouth, Harleen's pained wail cutting through the air. I stare into the Joker's eyes until I can see the light leaving them. I fling the maniac off my arm, sending him crashing into the brickwork of the far wall with a the sound of snapping bones ringing through the silent club, before he slides to the ground.

Of course, much like the Batman, merely seeing a dead body doesn't mean that he won't somehow show up again somewhere down the line. In order to remedy that little flaw I send energy towards my eyes, which start to get uncomfortably warm, almost as if I've rubbed my eyes after handling onions or peppers or something.

When I feel that I cannot contain the energy in my eyes any longer, I _push_ and two beams of light erupt from my eyes and impact Joker's corpse, slamming it back into the wall and setting it on fire.

And thus ends one of Batman's greatest enemies: a smear on the ground of some dingy club in the slums of Gotham.

Disposed off without any effort whatsoever.

Harley's eyes are fixed on the burning husk, a silent wail tearing from her throat as she sinks to her knees, tears freely flowing down her cheeks. For a moment, she looks so… _broken_ , I briefly wonder whether I should still kill her or simply walk away.

After all, she isn't much of a threat to me.

However, after a brief moment of contemplation, I decide to go through with killing her after all. She was going to have a vendetta against me after I killed the Joker in front of her, and while it was likely going to be ineffectual, there was always the possibility that some of the Joker's Plot-related superpowers have rub off on her, which might become a problem.

Even if that wasn't the case, an ineffectual vendetta, while not dangerous to me personally, would still be a bother to deal with and it might even cost me the allegiance or even the lives of any potential allies of mine down the line.

As I take a step towards her, her eyes snap towards me, a crazed look in them, void of any reasoning or sanity whatsoever. With another scream, she reaches into her handbag, pulling out a handgun of truly prodigious size. It looks almost comical (heh. get it?) in her dainty hands, but she is quick to aim the thick barrel straight at my head, and starts pulling the trigger.

I could dodge the bullets, but I don't really see a need to. Besides, if I _do_ dodge them, they might hit some of the partygoers instead, and there's no reason to endanger them (any further). Counting the bullets and literally looking _into_ her weapon to see how much ammo she has left, I wait until the final one is in the chamber before I burst into action.

I shoot forwards, splintering the wood underneath me as I appear in front of the grieving woman in a blur, my head right in front of her gun. Her eyes widen in shock at my survival and sudden movement, and for a long second we merely look at each other.

Then she fires her last bullet and my head whips back. I slowly tilt back, appearing to be defeated from that final bullet at point-blank range… right until I can hear her small sigh of relief. Then I regain my balance, my footfall heavy in the silence of the nightclub.

As I turn my head back towards her, she shrinks away from me in fear. I pull back my lips, showing her the bullet that I caught between my teeth. Briefly her eyes widen in surprise, before I close my mouth, purse my lips, and spit the bullet out.

Like Luthor (my chest still aches whenever I think about the despicably evil human) Harleen now sports a neat little round in the middle of her forehead. Before her form has even crumpled to the ground, I turn away from her, leaving the club.

While it feels good to have killed the Joker (even though I'm annoyed by the fact that he went out laughing), I still feel doubts over killing Harleen. She just looked so… broken and scared at the end.

Then again, it's not the first time that I've been on the receiving end of such a look, and still pulled the trigger.

The difference _this_ time was that, had I shown mercy, I wouldn't have had to worry about Lex having me drawn and quartered (no, I'm not being metaphorical. It was a phase of his when he took a few History electives back in College… those were dark days indeed). I chose to kill her on my own volition. Yes, I had rationalized it to myself, but the point was that I hadn't _needed_ to. And then there was _how_ I had killed her. There had been no need to play with her like that: before she had even fired the first bullet I could have taken her head clean off, either through lasers or fists.

By abandoning my human body, had I abandoned whatever little humanity I had left as well?

It was because of these profound and troubling questions tumbling through my mind as I walked outside that I wasn't prepared for what happened next. There was a blur of motion, the glint of the morning sun on polished steel and then a massive force _slammed_ into me, sending me flying down the length of the street.

I came to a halt by digging my hands in the asphalt beneath my tumbling form, my fingers digging deep furrows. Zod's remaining instincts, combined with my superior senses, allowed me to catch the sound of something- no, some _one_ very strong pushing off, a blur of motion on the edge of my sight.

With a roar, I surge forwards myself, throwing a strong jab straight at the approaching form. It twists, bringing up a disc of metal at the very last moment, and my fist crashes into a shield. The impact is loud enough that it could be mistaken for a cannon-shot, the air visibly distorting from the sheer force as my opponent is sent flying backwards, though they manage to keep their feet on the ground, digging deep furrows in the ruined street as well.

My suspicions about my opponent's identity are confirmed when Diana of Themyscira lowers her shield (now with the imprint of my knuckles in it), glaring over its edge with a focused expression of controlled anger, the blade of her sword held high and resting against the side of her shield.

"What is the meaning of this?!" I roar as I stalk forwards.

Diana is powerful, there's no denying that. More skilled as well, due to the sheer amount of years that she has spent training with some of the finest warriors on the planet. Still, I am far stronger and faster than her, with the half-ingrained reflexes and skill of one of the greatest Generals in the history of Krypton.

If I struck hard and fast and didn't get cocky, I should be able to win this. Not effortlessly, but victory was _definitely_ attainable.

Still, if the situation could be defused somehow, then-

"You killed them! You killed them both!" Diana shouts back at me.

Well. There goes that plan.

The only warning I get is the furrowing of her brow before she's shooting towards me again at speeds that rival my own. Lowering my stance, I bare my teeth as I prepare to trade blows with the strongest woman on the planet.

She rears back her sword while I pull back my fist, and with loud roars the battle is begun.

* * *

 **Fun Fact** : Gal Gadot had no idea she was auditioning for Wonder Woman. The casting was a secret, so she got a part to read without being told who the character was. After reading her lines, she went back to Israel, where she got the call from Zack Snyder revealing whose lines she had been reading.

 **AN:** Originally, I had wanted to include the fight and dialogue between Mark and Wonder Woman in this chapter as well, but it's nearly 1AM and I do still have classes. As such, the reason for WW sudden appearance will be explained in the next chapter. As for Nathaniel Adams, he just... popped up somehow. It's probably going to remain a cameo, unless he somehow manages to worm his way into the story and steal far more screen time than I had planned for him (most of my characters have that annoying habit).

 _Tremendous shout-out to my beloved Patrons: Justlovereadin, Daniel Dorfman, Carn Krauss, Samuel Carson, Thordur Hrafn and ReaperScythe! Your continued support means a lot to me, thank you so much!_


	3. Interlude I

_**Growing Pains**_

* * *

Sixteen years old

"I _really_ don't like this Lex."

"W-will you stop w-whining already? What's the worst-"

"You finish that sentence and I'll punch you in the face."

"…"

"…"

"-that can happen?"

"Goddamit Lex."

"Ha! Serves you right f-for making ineffectual threats! 'Punch me in the face', ha! You k-know, you almost had me convinced that you d-didn't have a sense of humor."

"Alright already, give it a rest will you. Let's get this over with before the entire dorm wakes up."

"Hmpf! S-spoilsport."

"Whatever Lex."

And with that glorious example of my exceptional wit, the two of us crept further along the hallway, taking care to be as silent as possible, me taking care not to jostle the plastic bag on my back too much. While it wasn't unusual for boys to sneak into the girls' dormitories, they usually had a different objective in mind.

In most cases, when a college boy sneaks towards a college girl's room, the goal is to… have a _romantic rendezvous_ (what? There are minors present here!).

However, _romantic relations_ were the very _last_ thing on Lex's mind tonight.

The trouble had started a few months ago. Lex was having trouble fitting in at college due to his young age and awkward social graces (to put it mildly), causing most of his classmates to pick on the withdrawn fourteen year old. It was the early 90's, so the old stereotypes of jocks and the like were still around.

It was a bad time for a thin, ginger nerd to go to college.

Every night, without fail, he would call me up in order to hear my breathing and to vent his frustrations, often descending into incoherent mutters and babbling as his mouth struggled to keep up with the speed of his thoughts. He would only go to sleep after I had talked him down from his mania, which ironically left me wide-awake and bone-tired afterwards.

Not that Lex cared of course. Or rather, he didn't know that he _should_ care. Or maybe he was just plain incapable of caring altogether.

Whatever the cause of his inconsiderate sleeping schedule was, the fact remains that for the first two months of his stay at college, he called me every night.

Until last week.

The first night that he didn't call me, I was simply grateful for the opportunity to get some uninterrupted sleep (while Lex was away at college, Luthor Sr., unwilling to bear my presence for any longer than absolutely necessary, had sent me away to boot camp despite my young age to better prepare me for a life as Lex's bodyguard. Hence, actual _sleep_ was a godsend to me these days).

By the third night, sleep didn't come to me at all.

After the fifth night, I decided that I had to check up on my charge. Sure, he was going to grow up to be an evil monster, even worse than his father who we both hated with a passion. But right now, he was a scared teenager, whereas I was (mentally) a fully grown adult. His wellbeing was my responsibility, and despite my misgivings, I was growing attached to the little bundle of neurotic spasms.

So I stuck my fingers in the back of my throat, threw up over myself, my bed and the floor of the barracks and got myself rushed to the medical examiner. Told him I ate sushi and haven't been feeling well or been able to hold down water. Spat out the water in a trash can when he offered me a bottle of water. Licked my hand and wetted my forehead while chewing on a pepper I had kept hidden in order to simulate a fever when his back was turned to me.

And then I got sent home on a five day leave and an anti-biotic regimen with strict orders to rest up and make sure to stay hydrated. The medical examiner noted in my record that I had been given leave due to gastroenteritis: the fancy word for a stomach ache.

It took me a few hours to travel from the base to Luthor's preppy college. Gaining access to the dorms was relatively easy, though I was as careful as possible to not be seen, either by people or camera's.

When I knocked on Lex's door, all I heard was a weak "go away!".

"Lex! Lex, it's me!"

For a few moments, everything had been silent, until I heard soft footfalls approaching the door, before it was thrown open. Lex looked… like a mess. His hair was greasy, his cheeks were sunken and he was wearing a stained shirt at least four sizes too large for him.

But his eyes…

They reminded me uncomfortably of Luthor Sr. whenever he was in one of his 'moods'. There's something about the look in their eyes that makes you doubt whether or not you're facing a human… or even a mammal. It's the look of a cold-blooded reptile, with nothing else on it's dark mind but to hunt and devour it's next prey.

It was as if I was looking into the eyes of a crocodile, or a snake and it sent a chill down my spine. It was the first time that Lex exhibited any overt signs of becoming the monster that I knew from the movies, shows and comics.

So, naturally, there was only one thing that I could say.

"Who are we gonna hurt?"

His smile would've been capable of unsettling the Joker.

As it turned out, the person who had the misfortune of calling down the wrath of a Luthor down upon themselves was one of the cheerleaders (I told you the old clichés were still around, didn't I?). The reason Lex had stopped calling that first night because he had been invited to a party. This was nothing new to me (Lex told me pretty much every single tiny detail of his entire day during his venting-sessions after all), and I had urged him to go to the little shindig, foolishly hoping that some socialization would maybe help him be more… stable.

Naturally, it went horribly wrong.

I blame my own university experience. I grew up in different times, and was a vastly different person than Lex (both mentally and physically), in a vastly different country. Bullies had been practically non-existent once I had entered highschool, and much of my university days were spent (board)gaming with friends, or watching classic movies while stoned out of our minds.

Sure, we had parties of our own, booze and cigars in ample supply, but it was a whole different scene than the frat-parties that American colleges were infamous for.

As such, I _really_ should've known better than trying to convince Lex that going to one of them was a good idea, but like I said, my own past experiences had made my views on college parties rather rose-colored, I fear.

Predictably, the frat boys had gotten Lex completely drunk off his ass, despite the fact that he was only fourteen. That would've been bad enough on its own, but that's where they got _nasty_. Or rather, the frat girls did. As far as Lex had been able to puzzle together from his investigation over the past few days, the boys had been fine with getting the nerd drunk until he puked, laugh at him and then kick him out.

One of the cheerleaders had decided that they should take it one step further. Or rather, a few dozen steps further. Taking advantage of Lex's hormones and alcohol levels, she easily seduced him to follow her into one of the bedrooms. There, she instructed him to strip for her, while asking him to talk dirty to her. As you might imagine, Lex's already poor communication wasn't help by the booze and the pretty girl in front of him, and his slurred speech as he tried to tear off his clothes was… painful to watch.

And watch it I did.

Because, what Lex hadn't known was that a few of the other girls had been hiding in the closet all along… videotaping everything. Once the pale, skinny butt of Lex Luthor Jr. was bared to the world, the girls burst out of the closet, scaring him out of his mind, allowing the head cheerleader to make a mad grab for his discarded clothes and quickly throwing them out the window.

The shrieking laughter of the four girls had either attracted the attention of the other party goers, or had been a signal. Either way, while Lex was still reeling from the sudden turn of events, desperately trying to cover himself up, some of the frat boys busted into the room.

Before Lex even had a chance to open his mouth, he had been grabbed by two beefy dudes with nasty grins on their faces.

"This loser giving you troubles ma'am?!"

"Eww, the pasty freak wanted to have sex with me! Get him out of here!" the head cheerleader had yelled, an evil grin plastered on her face, ruining her victim-performance.

Not that it had really mattered, of course, the camera still firmly focused on the struggling form of Lex, who, with his arms now trapped, was incapable of covering himself.

And so they marched him down the stairs and through the house, to the cheering, hooting and roars of the rest of the party. Beer and food was thrown at him, with some people actually reaching out and hitting or kicking him. It was almost a mercy when they reached the front door, throwing it open and sending Lex flying into the grassy lawn, covering him in mud.

Lex had beaten a hasty retreat, forced to leave his clothes behind or being stared at even more by the people outside of the house.

He hadn't left his room ever since, simply sitting on his bed and plotting his revenge.

Which brings us back to the here and now.

A pale, spindly hand presses against my chest, and as I look over at my friend, he places a thin finger against his lips. The gleam in his eye once again makes the skin on my scalp tingle, but then I recall the video and strengthen my resolve. Not only does my PlanTM require Lex's absolute trust, meaning that I literally cannot say 'no' to him, but this bitch deserves whatever Lex has got planned for her.

Turning back to the door of the girl in question, Lex takes a lock pick-set from his pocket (a gift from me) and start working on unlocking her room. He's done within the minute, and like a pair of ghosts, we slip into the cheerleaders dorm room.

"So, what's the plan?" I ask lowly, the third time I've asked this question.

Lex has been unusually quiet about it, refusing to tell me whenever I press him with an uncertain look in his face. It's almost as if he fears my reaction when he unveils what he has planned for his revenge.

Glancing back at me, he licks his lips as his head makes a few twitches, his plagued thoughts easy to read on his pinched face. Then he suddenly seems to come to a decision as his stance relaxes and that cool look returns to his eyes.

Without a word, he reaches into the bag that he had made me carry, producing a variety of items, such as pair of scissors, some cloth and a bottle of chloroform as he outlines their use and his overall goal for tonight.

Looking from the items back to him, I raise an eyebrow.

"Seems rather… mild."

Lex simply shakes his head, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards.

"This. This is only the _first_ step."

With that, he hands the bag to me.

"I need an alibi. Once her life starts falling apart, everyone will immediately suspect me. Which means that I need to be seen in public whenever we act against her. Since nobody knows you are here…"

"I'm going to have to be the one who actually does the life-ruining."

"Exactly. Are you in?"

For a moment, my gaze shifts from the bag in my hands, to the sleeping girl a few feet away, to the mad gleam in Lex's eyes. Lex is right. This is the first step. The first step in both of our descents into darkness. If we go through with this… that girl, completely oblivious to the threat so close to her… she'll be lucky if she makes it through college alive.

Or maybe she'll be unlucky to remain alive, depending on what Lex has in store for her. And I'll be the one to carry out his plans. I have no illusions about how this might end for me. Now, it's just humiliating the people who wronged Lex. But in ten years from now? Twenty?

Lex won't keep his revenge non-fatal, maybe not even now. Eventually, he won't hesitate at ordering the death of whoever he deems to be in his way.

I wonder… would I not hesitate anymore as well?

However, my choice was made sixteen years ago, when I woke up as a baby and discovered that I now shared a universe with a God who wanted to enslave all of existence (and he was capable of it too). That I now shared a planet with an alien who could reduce mountains to rubble and cities to ash completely by _accident_.

No, my choice was made long before I even stepped foot on this campus.

Placing my hand on his slim shoulder, I look deeply into Lex's manic eyes.

This time, there's no chill going down my spine.

"For you? Always."

He gives a shaky grin in response, before he sneaks out of the room, leaving me with his victim. I take a deep breath, before I start emptying the bag at my feet. Grabbing the piece of cloth, I quickly dab it with a generous amount of chloroform. Then, casting off all doubts, second-guesses and hesitation, I descend upon the sleeping cheerleader, my heavier form pinning her to the bed, the damp cloth pressed firmly over her nose and mouth.

Taken completely by surprise and still half-asleep, the girl's efforts to throw me off are hardly noteworthy as I keep her down. I don't loosen my grip until her panicked eyes slip closed, her struggles stop completely and her breathing returns to normal.

Once I'm certain that she's out for the count, I take the scissors and get to work, cutting as close to her scalp as I can without cutting her. I collect her hair in the bag by turning her so that she's lying perpendicular on her bed, her head hanging over the edge and above the bag. Once I've cut off as much as possible with the scissors as possible, I turn towards the rest of the items.

Applying the shaving cream to her head is somewhat awkward and a very disturbing feeling (my mind keeps flashing back to _The Silence of the Lambs_. "Put the lotion in the basket" indeed). Thankfully, shaving her is done rather quickly, though I take care to not make any cuts with the razorblade. The point is to make her hair loss appear as natural as possible, which is why I had to collect the hair: it would've been evidence of outside interference.

With no proof that her hair had actually been cut, and with Lex giving himself an alibi even now, the girl would be unable to accuse him of anything (sure, she could point fingers, but without any _proof_ the faculty would be unable to act against Lex).

Once all of her once lustrous hair has been placed inside the bag, I shift her so her bald head is once again resting on her pillow, while I try to remove any signs of struggle (it's why I had taken care to not leave any marks on her body as I restrained her).

With all of my tools packed away and all evidence removed, I sneak out of her room. As I stand in the door opening, ready to close it behind me, I cast one last glance over my shoulder at the unwitting girl.

Part of me feels bad for what I've done to her. And for what Lex and I are _going_ to do the her.

On the other hand…

"Sorry 'bout this. But it's you and me, and frankly, I like me a lot more than you." I breathe softly.

And then I close the door behind me and disappear like a ghost.

And so Lex's vendetta continued. Since my leave was only for five days, he had to move fast, meaning that he escalated at a rapid pace. After the first day, where the girl had run to the faculty members in tears and hysteria to the shock (and hidden amusement of the student body), he set his second plan in motion.

This one involved him going to the cafeteria. Despite the laughs and insults thrown his way by everyone who had seen the video (which was pretty much everyone), Lex managed to keep his head high, taking his meal and sitting alone in a corner.

Someone had texted his victim, since not long after, she burst into the cafeteria as well, a small gaggle of girls on her heels. Much like with Lex, stares followed her every move, though the laughs were somewhat less pronounced, due to her popularity.

What followed was an admittedly epic shouting match, even more so due to the fact that she was the only one shouting. Lex simply sat there, completely ignoring her as she railed against him, simply eating the rest of his mashed potatoes.

That is, until she grabbed his dinner plate and threw it across the hall… causing it to land at the principal's feet, splattering him in gravy and bits of pudding.

To this day, I still don't know how Lex timed that one.

My role came afterwards. When the girl (who I later found out was called Stacy) was dragged off to the principal's office, she was made to wait outside, while he tried to clean up as best he could. One of her friends quickly arrived with her bag, which in all of the commotion, Stacy had accidentally left behind in the cafeteria.

Gratefully accepting the bag, Stacy was quick to retrieve her water bottle, taking a few grateful gulps as she tried to calm down. Unfortunately for her, while she had been yelling at Lex (and afterwards as the principal had been yelling at _her_ ) I had managed to get a hold of her bag. More importantly, I had slipped quite a few laxatives in the very same water bottle that she was now drinking from.

Which meant that by the time the principal opened his door with a furious expression on his face, Stacy was feeling quite unwell, as she desperately tried to make clear to him. Unfortunately for her, the principal thought she was merely acting in order to try and dodge her punishment, causing him to go red in the face and shout her into his office.

Unfortunately for _him_ , he really should've listened to the girl who was clasping her abdomen so hard that her knuckles went white. Oh well, not my problem that the chair in front of his desk (and part of the carpet) was now coated in diarrhea.

By the third day, Stacy wouldn't get out of her room. Lex had anticipated this (of course the little smartass had), which is why he had improvised several stink bombs from the Chemistry Lab, which he had hooked up to a remote control.

Which is why, precisely when one of the faculty members had been relentlessly banging on her door until Stacy threw it open, they all went off simultaneously. As the ghastly smell spread from her room past the two of them into the rest of the hallway and the adjacent rooms, both Stacy and the Faculty member proved to be no match for the mix of Heterocyclic compounds and they ended up throwing up.

Over each other.

With her room unlivable, Stacy was forced to try and bunk with some of her friends… only to find out that she had precious little friends left. You would be hard-pressed to find a person who would be willing to bunk with someone known for excessive expulsion of bodily matter. By this point, most of the student body (and a couple of faculty members) had become convinced that her sudden hair loss wasn't a malicious prank, but rather a sign of some serious health issues.

The fourth day… nothing seemed to happen to her. There were two reasons for this. The first is because the scariest thing a human will ever encounter in its life… is its imagination. After being tormented by unseen assailants (of course, whenever she hysterically brought up these would-be attackers, people thought that her mind might have some issues as well) for three days straight, Stacy spent every second of the fourth day looking over her shoulder.

Her extremely paranoid behavior (she refused to let people within three feet of her, nobody was allowed to touch her stuff and she refused to eat or drink anything) merely served to push people even further away as Stacy descended into a pit of despair of her own making.

The other reason made itself apparent when she was suddenly taken out of her class by the campus security and once more escorted to the principal (who for the foreseeable future had relocated to an unused classroom while the cleaning ladies tried to get the stains out of his carpet, the chair having been identified as a lost cause).

This time however, it wasn't just the principal who awaited her, since he was flanked by a cop and someone from the DEA. As it turned out, while her room was being cleared out, the cleaning crew had found several packets of cocaine, hidden away behind her closet and underneath her bed.

Getting my hands on the cocaine had been gallingly easy. A few subtle questions to the right types of students easily led me to the resident weed slinger. Some _un_ subtle "questions" had led me to his supplier (and had put the fear of God into him if I ever caught him selling drugs to kids ever again), and through him I managed to get a lead to the those who sold the heavier stuff.

Honestly, actually planting the stuff was the hardest part of that operations, since the smell in Stacy's room was so horrible that I had to hold my breath the entire time I was in there, or I'd risk leaving DNA-evidence of my presence there.

I was forced to ditch the clothes after taking a _long_ shower, meaning that I was walking around in clothes I borrowed from Lex, which were at least two sizes too small for me.

Of course, after the drugs had been pinned found in her room, and taking her recent behavior into account, the college was quick to kick Stacy to the curb. Which led to the fifth day, where Lex and I were standing in the shade of the large park in front of the college, watching as Stacy (bawling her eyes out) was dragging her suitcase behind her towards the taxi that was waiting for her.

We weren't the only ones watching of course, and in a reversal of what Lex had gone through, Stacy now had to endure the taunts, jeers and insults thrown at her by a mass of students as they laughed at her disgraceful exit.

While Lex doesn't say anything, the wide grin stretched across his face is more than sufficient in relaying his mood.

As Stacy finally manages to get into her taxi, which is quick to take off, I turn towards Lex with a questioning expression.

"To be honest, I thought you'd still have something planned for her for today, since I'm on my last day of leave."

The look that Lex shoots me is startlingly innocent, considering the horror that he put one of his enemies through these past few days (and I know that he's hardly done. After all, the cheerleader wasn't the only one at that party…).

"Of course. This way, we get an entire day to spend together, instead of working. I thought it'd be nice to have a day off, just the two of us relaxing." Lex says, once again reminding me that, for all that he's destined to become one of the worst villains this world has seen, right now he's still a fourteen year old kid with precisely _one_ friend during his entire life.

Me.

"You know what? That _does_ sound nice. Any plans?" I say with a soft smile as we turn our back to the crowd and start strolling further into the park.

"Not really. I was thinking of doing some light reading in the sun. I've recently gotten into the work of Epicurus, do you know of him? Fascinating stuff really, he came up with something called the trilemma…"

I let Lex's words wash over me as I enjoy the smell of the grass and the singing of the birds while the sun shines down on my face. By going along with Lex's first truly malicious scheme, I have set myself on a path from which there is no return. I'm probably not going to like where the path will take me, or how I'll end up because of it, but for now…

For now, I put it out of my mind as I sit in the park with my best friend, enjoying the sun.

* * *

 **AN:** So, a lot of you expressed a lot of interest in Mike's backstory, growing up with Little!Luthor (for some of you, you found that premise actually _more_ interesting than the actual story itself), and that idea started tumbling around in my mind. Since I had a free period, I decided to give it a shot, and this is the end result. Pretty happy with how it turned out actually, though the ending is a bit too sappy and rushed for my tastes. Unfortunately, there's very little I can do about it right now, since I need to wrap this up and go back to classes. I'm going on holidays to see my Serbian family for the first time in three years for about a week, so feel free to give me your thoughts and I'll probably get on the rewrite sometime next week. Cheers!

 **Fun Fact:** Originally, Warner Bros. wanted an older actor for the role of Lex Luthor. Joaquin Phoenix was approached, but turned it down (though he couldn't escape the DC-verse entirely after all). Tom Hanks was allegedly asked, but if he was he turned it down as well. Forced to go with a younger actor, Adam Driver was approached, and while he was interested, he had to turn down the role as well due to a scheduling conflict. The role went to Jesse Eisenberg… which wasn't exactly a success.

 _I would like to express my thanks to Miu, Justlovereadin, Daniel Dorfman, Carn Krauss, Samuel Carson, Thordur Hrafn, ReaperScythe and Fakhrurrozi for their continued support! It really does mean a lot to me, so thanks again!_


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three – A Wondrous Fight**

* * *

 **Quick AN:** I wrote this while listening to Sabaton. I highly suggest you do the same. Start with Carolus Rex, it's available on youtube/spotify.

* * *

Wonder Woman is fast.

It's such an innocent sounding and obvious statement. The sky is blue. Grass is green. And Wonder Woman is fast.

As such, it is insufficient to describe just how I felt when I was on the receiving end of that speed, especially when it was being combined with the edge of a magical sword and a ton of righteous womanly fury.

The moment that she had closed in on me, sword raised high above her head, I was already counterattacking, my right fist coming up in a brutal uppercut. What I didn't expect was for the Amazonian to feint her strike and, within the _exact_ millisecond that my balance shifted too much forwards thus committing me to the attack, put on an extra burst of speed, slamming her shield into my chest.

Almost immediately, I focused on keeping my footing, since I refuse to be batted around as if I were in a pinball-machine, my feet creating deep craters in the street as I try to weather the ramming attack... which leaves me open for a blindingly fast follow up strike as Wonder Woman only now finishes her previous overhand strike.

Still, I'm in the (mutated) body of one of the finest warriors the Kryptonian race has ever seen, so instead of her cutting off my arm at the shoulder, I manage to violently twist my body to the side, gritting my teeth as the tip of her enchanted blade slices a thin stripe over the left side of my chest. It's only skin deep, not much worse than a particularly large and nasty paper cut and with the sun only about an hour away from noon, it will be healed within moments.

Still, I have to concede first blood to Wonder Woman.

All of this happened in just a little over a second. Neither of us were even moving at our top speed (though realistically, we wouldn't be moving a top speed in the middle of combat as it took to much effort and concentration to maintain).

Other than a small smirk as our eyes meet, allowing her to see my frustration at her small victory, Wonder Woman doesn't let up. Still extended from her last strike, right arm outstretched, her sword out as if it were a rapier, Diana immediately turns to her left in a wide swing, hoping to bisect me at the middle.

I manage to avoid such a grisly fate by shooting forwards myself, planting my knee squarely in the middle of her shield. While our speed is roughly the same (though the Amazonian's experience allows her to use it more effectively than I can) my strength is undeniably superior to hers. And with how close we were standing, theoretical top speeds don't really matter.

Which means that Wonder Woman has just enough time to widen her eyes as my knee meets her shield, before she's blasted backwards through a car, a bus stop and the outer wall of a building. My X-ray vision pierces the clouds of dust and gravel billowing out of the hole she just made with her dynamic entry, spotting her as she climbs out of a furrow in the floor of a room at the far side of the building.

Not giving such a dangerous opponent as Wonder Woman any time to regain her footing, I burst in after her, completely ignoring the remaining walls that are in my way. I appear as a blur, time slowing down to a crawl, dust and brick slowly gliding to the ground as if they were made of snow as I close in on the Amazonian princess. Despite my best efforts, Diana still manages to put up her shield, either through amazing senses of her own, or just sheer battle experience.

It doesn't matter.

In a move that would make even the most stoic soccer player shed a manly tear in pride, I come to a sudden halt, looming over her, my left foot crashing next to her prone body, splintering the woodwork, as my right foot is pulled back, my arms spread and my torso leaning far back. I could be on the cover of a Fifa game with this pose. Diana tries to capitalize on the myriad of openings that I have left in my stance, trying to move faster than me, her blade shooting towards my torso faster than a bullet.

However, I have momentum on my side. Thanks Newton. I owe you one.

The sound of the collision between my foot and her body is loud enough that the remaining windows of the building shatter as one, the very foundations rumbling as waves of force blast outwards. I see Wonder Woman gasp, her eyes clenched in pain, before she's blasted out of the building with such speed I'm fairly certain that she broke the sound barrier for a moment or two.

The building that briefly housed our fight can't take more abuse than that, two of its walls basically gone at this point. As multiple tons of concrete and brick come crashing down around me, I keep my eyes locked on Wonder Woman's tumbling form, and bending at the knees, I jump out of the avalanche of stone as easily as if it were made of cobwebs.

It's only because I know not to underestimate the Amazonian princess that I keep my eyes locked onto her tumbling form, allowing me to catch a twist in her movement, as she swings-

Oh.

 _Shit_.

Due to still soaring through the air, there's nothing for me to push off against, and so I'm unable to do anything more than close my eyes and turn my head away as Wonder Woman's shield slams into me with the strength of a freight train, appearing like a streak of light as it cuts through the air on a collision course with my face.

The blow is powerful enough that I'm blasted backwards, sent spinning head over heels as I am pushed back towards the docks. I try to straighten myself in mid-air, but I still land badly on my shoulder as I skid across the roof of a small skyscraper. My hand immediately lashes out, creating deep furrows as I come to a immediate halt. I raise my head, preparing to leap back into battle, wary of any follow-up attacks, but Diana does her millennia of training justice as she's already shooting towards me.

She doesn't have actual flight like Clark did, but she has enough ability to defy gravity that she clearly managed to land on her feet, before pursuing me, crashing onto the same roof as I had slammed into only a second before. She immediately pushes off, a spray of gravel behind her as she shoots towards my hunched form, the gleaming tip of her sword leading the way.

Due to the (relatively) tiny amount of space between us, there's no hope for me to dodge, so instead of moving away, I move _towards_ her sword. The unexpected move is enough to cause Diana's eyes to widen and for her blade to minutely waver, but her brutal training and multiple lifetimes of combat experience keep her on her course.

My hands shoot forwards, closing around her sword close to the hilt, the magically enchanted steel slicing deep into my flesh (two of my fingers are cut to the bone, while the sword is embedded about an inch into the palms of my hands). The force of Wonder Woman still charging forwards pushes the blade further until the tip slams into the middle of my broad chest, sinking in a few inches.

And then the abused roof can take no more of the titanic forces that are being unleashed, and Diana pushes me _through_ the roof into the building.

And the subsequent three- owww... –make that _four_ levels.

Lying on my back, my hands almost losing a couple of fingers, a sword sticking out of my chest and a murderous Amazonian princess straddled over me with an enraged expression on her face, I briefly consider the fact that not being on the side of the good guys can really, _really_ suck.

Locked in a stalemate (my superior strength versus her better leverage and weapon), I look Diana straight in her eyes, and growl at her in a bid to take her off her guard.

" **What changed, Diana of Themyscira? Did you not turn your back on the World of Man after your task had been completed? Were you not content to slip away in order to find some small measure of peace? What is it, that the death of two men causes such rage against me?** " I spit at her, my hands trembling as I try to keep her sword from sinking even further into my chest.

"They were not mere men: they were _heroes_! And I will _not_ allow monsters like you to undo the sacrifices that have been made in bringing this violent world further towards peace! If unchecked, you would be as much a blight upon this world as Ares, and I will not-!"

I'm not really sure just what more she wanted to say. I don't really care either. The only thing that mattered was that I had accomplished what I needed with my questions: Diana had leaned forwards in order to look me into my eyes.

My _Kryptonian_ eyes.

The moment our gazes lock, Diana is greeted with two burning lasers straight to the face. The beams of heat pack enough energy to rock her backwards. She would've been sent flying simply due to the sheer unexpectedness of the attack, were it not for the fact that, due to her honed warrior instincts, she's still keeping a hold of her sword, which I'm still holding in a death-grip (though hopefully not literally).

However, the blow is powerful enough that her grip slackens, and I immediately buck my hips, twits my torso, while giving her sword a tremendous wrench so it finally leaves my chest, all the while trying my best to keep my lasers focused on her.

We're in a stalemate for the barest of moments, before she can't take the heat and roars in pain and frustration, forced to take one hand off her blade so she can block my laser with her vambrace. This weakens her grip enough that I can wrest the sword away from her. Ideally I would immediately counterattack with it, but my hands are ruined, and unable to properly hold a blade, let alone swing it with enough strength and skill to take down an Amazonian.

So instead I fling it away from us, more concerned with getting to my feet as fast as possible. Wonder Woman tries to tackle me, but I manage to hold my ground by slamming my shoulder into her stomach as she crashes into me. The blow doesn't send her flying, instead the two of us ram into each other like mountains, solid and unmoving, the air blasted away from us. Vaguely I recognize our surroundings as being some sort of office space, the sound of humans in mortal peril screaming out in pain and fear easily reaching my enhanced senses, but the vast majority of my attention is focused on the Princess that's currently trying to bash my skull in.

Because my hands are still practically useless (though the flesh is already rapidly knitting back together with a tingling feeling) I have no means to effectively grapple with the Amazonian, so before she can put me into a hold, I break our clinch by sharply twisting my torso to the side, simultaneously bringing up my knee towards her liver.

She manages to catch the knee strike with her hand, but this leaves her open to a head butt that sends her crashing through several cubicles and into the nearby wall. Every second counts, so I don't hesitate in immediately taking off after her, pushing off the floor violently enough that what little remained of its structural integrity is completely shattered, the tiles and part of the walls (as well as several unfortunate employees) crumbling down to the story below.

I don't even notice, completely focused on delivering the knee-strike from Hell to the recovering Wonder Woman.

Seeing the blur that I am as I shoot towards her, Diana instinctively takes a guarding stance as she always does, her forearms crossed in front of her face and upper chest. Unfortunately for her, this briefly obscures her vision of me, and I have absolutely no problem with hitting under the belt.

The shocked look of sudden pain, incredulity and sheer _offence_ as my knee slams into her groin almost succeeds in breaking my concentration, as I resist bursting out in laughter, even as Diana is sent flying out of the building, with me right on her heels.

As we're soaring through the sky, easily clearing two city blocks, I realize that we're getting really close to the docks now, the surrounding buildings now rarely more than ten stories tall. It's also less densely populated, with significantly fewer structures for us to crash into. Instead of slamming into yet another office building or warehouse or whatever, this time Wonder Woman makes a deep furrow down one of the main roads in Gotham's outer districts, leaving a few burning car wrecks in her wake.

I land with an earth-shattering impact, causing dozens of car alarms up and down the street to erupt into a deafening cacophony of noise. The multitude of sharp, annoying shrieking sounds are sudden and loud enough to briefly disorient me, before I manage to turn them out. Thankfully, the same applied to Wonder Woman, judging by the fact that she didn't immediately tried to attack me.

In the brief moment of calm during this hectic fight, I quickly go over several options and observations.

Annoyingly, Wonder Woman doesn't have a mark on her, other than the fact that her eyebrows and hair are a bit singed, and her eyes appear to be irritated, something similar to how people look a couple of hours after being pepper-sprayed. But despite my punches and kicks, and even after having demolished several buildings, Diana's skin is still flawless (disregarding the dirt and a few minor scratches), not a cut or bruise in sight.

Fortunately, since she's now separated from her sword, her ability to seriously injure me has dropped down significantly. After all, aside from the wounds inflicted by magical steel, there's not a mark upon me as well.

Superman was right when he gave that "world of cardboard"-speech in the cartoon. We can keep slamming each other into buildings and roads for however long we liked, but there was hardly anything on this planet actually tough enough to be more than a nuisance to us. Which is why it sucked that a weapon which was actually capable of harming us was lying abandoned somewhere in a crumbling building far behind me.

Still, while her sword was her most dangerous weapon, and her shield had mitigated a lot of my damage, Diana still had several tricks up her sleeves (metaphorically speaking). And as a glowing lights comes from the Amazonian's clenched fist, I grimly recognize the Lasso of Hestia.

Unbreakable. Forces you to tell the truth. And, should I get caught in it, a very real chance at being Game Over for me.

The answer? Don't get caught.

Right as Diana pulls back her arm, I shoot to the side. I know merely juking isn't enough to escape the trained eye of the last remaining Old God, but dodging wasn't my intention. Before the dust has a chance to settle, or Wonder Woman has a chance to throw her Lasso, my hand sinks deep into the frame of a nearby car, the metal warping like paper under my might.

With a minor flex of my Kryptonian strength, the vehicle is sent flying down the streets at speeds that it never achieved during its time on all four wheels. Of course, it takes more than an impromptu missile to take Wonder Woman out, and she's quick enough to side-step the flying car, the air-borne vehicle passing close enough to disturb her hair.

Not stopping in her movements, Diana continues her spin, her form tight and controlled as she uses her momentum to quickly raise her Lasso above her head, the golden rope swinging wildly and almost appearing eager to lash itself around me.

Or it would, if I hadn't sent a van flying on the heels of the car.

Seeing the approaching hunk of metal, Wonder Woman proves her skill as she keeps moving, sliding on her knees underneath the tumbling van, close enough that her chin almost touches the banged up metal. She smoothly rises from her power-slide, her arm reared back in order to throw her Lasso and reel me in like a particularly overgrown and mutated fish, but then a _third_ car comes sailing towards her.

Diana's eyes widen as she looks at the flying sedan, and instead of dodging, she braces herself, and catches the car as its roof slams into her, though the strength of the impact sends her skidding back several feet. She _could_ have dodged that one as well, of course, but I knew that she wouldn't.

After all, _this_ car had been filled with people.

With her heroic nature causing her to instinctively try and save innocents (clearly disregarding the fact that we've definitely killed a score of humans during our battle so far, as most DC heroes are wont to do), I get the window that I need.

The moment the last car had left my hand, I dashed towards the nearest lamppost. The car was about halfway towards Diana when I ripped it out of the ground. She had just caught the vehicle in her hands when I grabbed the base of the lamppost and crushed it to a tapered point.

Wonder Woman was just about to set the car down when I slammed my impromptu spear _through_ the car and into her belly.

Despite her armour and natural toughness, the point of the lamppost still transferred massive amounts of force through an incredibly tiny surface area, allowing it to overcome her durability before the combined forces of my strength and Wonder Woman's higher density caused the lamppost's own structural integrity to fail, crumpling like a pretzel.

Still, the damage was done.

My X-Ray vision clearly saw the shallow cut in Diana's abdomen, a relatively minor wound only a few inches deep, somewhat comparable to the chest wound she had inflicted on me with her sword. Pretty impressive, honestly, considering she used magically enchanted Amazonian steel in order to do that amount of damage to me, while I tried to spear her with a fucking _lamppost_ , straight through her armour and a car.

The sudden pain of the wound is enough to make her gasp out in surprise (it's been a _century_ since she was last wounded this badly) and before she can fully recover, I've ripped the car from her grip and tossed it aside, immediately closing the distance. My left hand shoots out, grabbing her by her shoulder, causing her to begin struggling almost at the same time that she can feel my grip on her flesh. However, before she has a chance to rip herself free, my right fist crashes into her wounded abdomen like a jackhammer.

Again and again my fist crashes into her stomach, each strike producing a noise like a thunderclap. I must have hit her nearly ten times in a single second, though I quickly lose count. Due to my hand on her shoulder, she doesn't fly away due to the strength of my strikes, instead remaining close to me, within a distance where her greater speed and experience mean very little in the face of my far greater strength.

Due to the fact that my fist is made out of the most durable material currently on the planet, this approach is far more effective than merely trying to keep bashing her into frail human architecture, and the results quickly show as Wonder Woman stumbles underneath my onslaught.

She gasps, desperate for breath as my fist keeps slamming into her, appearing as a blur to human eyes. She tries to free her arm, but my grip is too strong for her to break when she's on the back-foot like this. She tries to put her other arm between her wounded belly (the entire front of her armour as well as my whole arm are coated in her blood) and my fist, hoping to catch my attacks on her indestructible vambrace, but I give her torso a violent jerk, putting her off-balance, allowing my fist to slip past her guard and continue its gruesome work. She tries to kick at me, but as she brings her leg forwards, I bring my own leg down, slamming it into her shin, close to the ankle, blocking the attack and further putting her off-balance.

Fuelled by literal godly strength (and a healthy amount of desperation) Diana manages to curl in on herself, before rising suddenly, bringing her right elbow in a brutal sharp motion, sending it crashing into the underside of my own. The attack is too sudden for me to anticipate and try to block, and is powerful enough that I distinctly hear something go 'pop!', which is never a good sound for your body to make.

With my arm mangled (for now, since we're standing in a sun-lit street, meaning that much like my other injuries it will be completely healed in a minute or so), I don't have a good enough hold of her torso, and she rips free of my grip. Right as I'm about to punch her again in her bloodied stomach, she manages to pull of the most accurate Trinity-impression I have ever seen by jumping up, pulling in her legs, and delivering the mother of all mule-kicks straight to my chin with enough force that she almost snaps my neck, before her levitation allows her to smoothly return to the ground (though her injuries cause her to briefly stumble).

Meanwhile I'm sent flying down the street at easily Mach 1, obliterating about half a dozen cars and a bench, before crashing into the hallway of a building with such enormous amounts of force that it immediately starts falling apart, crashing down on my prone form and burying me in multiple tons of shattered concrete and broken glass.

Well. _Fuck_.

I remain perfectly still, even holding my breath, as I use my X-Ray vision to look through my own closed eyelids and the rubble burying me at Wonder Woman. I've used ample amounts of brute force, only making a small amount of headway.

Time to see what deception can accomplish.

I see the blurry form of Wonder Woman (slightly slumped and pressing an arm to her stomach) as she warily approaches the ruined building, the Lasso of Truth in her free hand. For several tense moments, her head remains looking at my burial mound, her eyes doubtlessly scanning the rubble for the tiniest sign of life from me, her entire stance screaming her readiness to jump back into battle at the drop of a hat.

As seconds stretch into minutes and the rubble remains undisturbed, Wonder Woman lets out a relieved breath, before she turns to look back at the ruined street, only now realizing the true extent of the damage our battle has done. People are crying and screaming for help or loved ones. Various fires are lined up and down the street and car-wrecks are strewn about, forming a scene of total chaos.

For a moment, Diana seems to hesitate, looking between the collapsed building and the people in desperate need for help, before eventually her compassion overrides her battle instincts. Ignoring her own tiredness and injuries (my X-ray vision allows me to spot the hairline fractures in several of her ribs from where I kicked her out of a building as if she were a football at the beginning of our fight) Wonder Woman starts helping the desperate humans, lifting wreckage out of the way and directing people to evacuate the area.

Briefly I consider my options, before I decide to lay in wait for a bit longer. My best bet at defeating Wonder Woman within any reasonable amount of time was to get my hands on her sword (or barring that, hope that the Kryptonian ship possessed weaponry capable of dealing with her). However, extracting myself from the mound of rubble currently burying me would slow me down long enough to tip her off, and then the whole fight would start all over again.

I need a distraction.

Thankfully, panicky humans in a cinematic universe offer just the thing I need.

"My baby! Someone please save my baby!" a wail tears across the road, and I can see Diana's head turn sharply in the direction of the distressed cry.

The desperate mother is actually quite a distance away, not even in the direct vicinity of my and Wonder Woman's rampage. However, people had been fleeing the scene the moment that an Amazonian princess crashed in their midst and broke the road and their vehicles, causing a massive crush of humans and vehicles trying to leave the surrounding area (and possibly Gotham entirely). This caused for several car pile-ups and, evidently, at least one trapped child.

Diana only pauses to set an old lady back on her feet, before she dashes towards the multitude of broken and smoking cars, looking them over with a critical eye as she tries to save the kid.

Which means that she's no longer looking at me.

Typical hero-induced stupidity: _everybody_ knows that, as long as you don't see a body, they're not dead.

Everybody, _except_ those few mentally disturbed people who enjoy violently abusing people while wearing mini-skirts and/or spandex.

I waste no time in taking advantage of Wonder Woman's distraction, and burst from the collapsed building in a spray of rubble like an angry god, immediately making a beeline for where I dropped Diana's sword. The Amazonian is annoyingly quick to react though, since my hearing picks up the sound of shattering tarmac as the princess pushes off in hot pursuit.

It's going to be a tough race: I have a head-start, we're roughly equally as fast but she has the Lasso of Hestia to stop me from a distance.

Something at the very edge of my senses _screams_ at me, a vague and indefinable thing pressing on my entire nervous system, and without even consciously thinking about it, I throw my body sharply to the side, turning my dodge in a smooth roll and then immediately blasting off again. Spotting a golden glow from the corner of my eyes, I profusely thank the remains of Zod's combat experience even as I try to put on more speed.

In a matter of moments I spot the building where Wonder Woman and I had last fought in, the top half of the building a broken mess. Even as I keep running towards it, my eyes are frantically scanning the remaining floors and rubble in search of Diana's sword, finally spotting it when I'm close enough that I've nearly crashed through the building's front doors. A massive jump brings me to the top of the building, and I can hear Wonder Woman pushes off only a moment later, doubtlessly readying that Lasso of hers again.

Not turning around to check, I grab the nearest slab of concrete and fling it in her general direction, frantically following that with the remains of walls and floors as I rapidly dig through the rubble in order to reach her sword. She manages to weather my make-shift artillery however, since I can hear her crash onto the building a few dozen feet behind me and to my right. With her sword and shield gone, there's not many options left for her to engage me with other than with her fists and feet, and judging from her efforts so far, I know that she'll choose targeting me with the lasso again over trying to blast me with her bracelets.

In an attempt to save myself, I grab a long shaft of metal, which turns out to be part of the pipe works, which I swing in her direction as I swiftly turn around. Several things happen at once. As I had expected, Wonder Woman had thrown her Lasso at me. I was fairly accurate with my swing, as the metal pipe went inside the loop of her Lasso. Unfortunately, I didn't manage to tangle the golden rope as I wanted to, and instead the loop closes around my right forearm in a burning grip, my very _bones_ creaking in distress. My _left_ hand, however, slams through what appears to be a large chunk of roof. Wonder Woman tries to unbalance me by tugging on my arm, but I manage to remain standing with monumental effort. Luckily for me, the rubble underneath her feet crumbles away as she tries to dig in, which unbalances her long enough for me to give a massive heave with my right arm. Instead of her reeling me in, I instead reverse the situation by pulling her towards me.

" **Get over here!** "

Feeling herself loose her footing, Wonder Woman decides to let herself be taken close to me, probably looking for options to engage in CQC now that she's got one of my limbs trapped. However, when she's only a few feet away from me on a collision course which she can't stop, my left hand finally finds what it's looking for, and in a great overhead arch, I pull her sword from the stone, it's enchanted blade gleaming in the midday sun.

Wonder Woman's eyes widen in understanding, and she immediately tries to straighten as she raises her arms, preparing to bash her bracelets together. With how close she is to me, such a blast could easily send my flying well over a city block away. Due to its magical nature and close proximity, that attack could do some serious injury to me, and judging by her determined and faintly triumphant expression she knows it as well.

With bared teeth, she brings her arms down...

... and nothing happens.

For a moment, a look of confusion enters her eyes, before it's replaced by one of horror when she looks down and realizes the cause of her failed attack. The reason her attack didn't work is because it requires _two_ vambraces to be banged together in order to produce the blast.

She, however, now only had _one_.

I had cut off her right arm at the elbow.

In that horrible moment of pain and confusion, Wonder Woman lets her guard down, and I don't hesitate in capitalizing on it. Continuing my downwards swing into a backwards spin, I grasp the handle with both of my hands, roar with effort and make a wide horizontal attack, coming to a halt just behind Wonder Woman, the bloodied tip of her sword low to the ground.

For a moment, there's neither sound or movement, just a small breeze that disturbs the dust at our feet.

Then Wonder Woman sinks to her knees, before slowly falling forwards, her head coming loose and rolling a few feet forwards, her expression frozen in shock.

And thus, the last of DC's Holy Trinity is dead.

Straightening from my last attack, I look at Wonder Woman's corpse with a sense of... of what exactly? Melancholy?

Something less than regret, but also less than satisfaction. While it's unfortunate that I had to kill Wonder Woman, I won't mourn for her. She tried to kill me, and was actually capable of it too. She wasn't some squishy human who could be killed just by breathing too hard on them. She wasn't a Kryptonian who had an inbuilt cheat-code which could be exploited for an insta-win. She was a half-goddess, powerful and without any apparent weaknesses.

Ideally I'd captured her alive, in order to use her as leverage against the remaining Amazonians, but with the way the fight was going, capture became increasingly less feasible. I'd have to kill her, or risk the chance of her killing me instead.

As I had proven, one good hit was all it would take to end the fight between us.

However, not all was lost. Kryptonians were masters of genetic manipulation. I can still bring her body back to the ship and see whether or not I can create an Amazonian-Kryptonian hybrid body for myself, instead of this stapled together corpse that I now inhabited.

Did that make me Frankenstein, or Frankenstein's monster?

While using her as leverage against her mother could have been fruitful in making them submit to me and hand over their magical goodies, I could also just simply conquer them by force. They were slaughtered with ease by Steppenwolf, who I roughly match in physical power even now. Imagine what I could do with a perfected body and a few allies on my side...

Of course, now that she was dead, I couldn't interrogate Wonder Woman about how she found out so quickly that I had killed Clark and Bruce (though showing up at the ship with the beheaded corpse of Superman slung over my shoulder wasn't exactly the epitome of subtlety I belatedly realize), but I had a pretty good guess as to who notified her, and managed to rile her up enough that she went on the warpath for what where basically merely acquaintances.

It seems there is a butler that I need to have a serious conversation with.

* * *

 **Fun Fact:** Wonder Woman originally didn't wear a skirt. While the old images do make it seem like a billowing piece of fabric, she's actually wearing culottes, split pants ranging from thigh to knee length. The bottom of the pants were drawn very loose and frilly, meaning that when culottes fell out of use and were forgotten, people instead saw a skirt in it. In modern portrayals, she either wears shorts, or a proper skirt due to cartoon, TV and movie influences.

 **AN:** Right, I just wanted to give you all a quick notice about some changes I made to my Patronage system. As some of you may already know, there's a tier-system in place, with different prices giving different benefits. After having made some slight changes, here's how my tier-system looks like:

 **1$ Tier – Awesomenauts**

The people who want to support me without dipping into their savings. They shall be recognized for their sacrifices by all of my readers, since they'll get a shout-out in each chapter.

 **2$ Tier – Galactic Admirals**

The wealthy, hailing from the upper elechons of our society. By showering me with money, they have earned the right to vote on the next story, as well as the publishing of new stories and even titles!

 **5$ Tier – Universal Monarchs**

These people consider the Quote 500 as low-income wretches. Their massive fortunes has given them the ability to demand commission work, and I (a starving student) have no choice but to bow to their whims.

 **20$ Tier – Dimensional Overlords**

Great patrons only whispered about in legends and myths, these people posses such great treasures they're willing to unleash avalanches of money upon me. They get all the perks, titles and special goodies I can think of, and they are welcome to join the creative process that goes into writing each chapter.

Let me know what you think about the chapter, but also about the tier-system. I'd love to hear your feedback! Should I change the tiers, add tiers, remove them? Add, change or remove the benefits? I'm still trying to figure out how this all is supposed to work, so your input is appreciated! Do know that this is completely optional: I'll still keep on writing, regardless of patronage, this is just something that I feel would be cool to do with you guys, get you more engaged with my writing process.

 _A massive shout-out to all of my Patrons, thank you so much for supporting me! You guys are the best! :D Justlovereadin, Shaman95, Daniel Dorfman, Carn Krauss, Sam, Thordur Hrafn, ReaperScythe, Ryan Lahey, Kahn, Vu, Roman Krupkin! Thanks again!_


	5. Chapter 4

_**Chapter four – Saying goodbye**_

* * *

After regaining my breath, I tapped the commlink in my ear, hailing the Kryptonian ship as I walked over to Wonder Woman's corpse. The AI on the ship answered my call almost immediately.

" **Ship. Do you have any vehicles that you can send over to my current location that have enough space to fit a humanoid?** "

"Several escape pods can be brought online. The required energy consumption will slow current repairs to all systems by 3.21 percent. Shall I proceed?"

I could almost imagine a blinking Y/N icon awaiting my response.

" **Yes, proceed. Send one to my location as soon as possible.** "

"Acknowledged. Brining up pod CT/1 online. ETA: 3 minutes, 21 seconds. Please stand by."

As much as I hated just standing around at the scene of the crime, there was little that I could do. I knew that, should I trust the ship and simply leave Wonder Woman's body just lying around, inevitably (parts of) it would not be arriving back at the ship. The reason for this could range from mere looters to literal divine intervention.

Considering I have absolutely no desire to face a Zombie Wonder Woman in the future, I'm leaving nothing up to chance.

Even if it means I have to stand next to a beheaded corpse as I hear news choppers closing in. I briefly consider taking them out of the sky with some well-aimed pebbles, but I quickly decide against it. Considering nothing the humans have can harm or detain me, I don't really have to fear or even bother with their perception of me. My only goal is to become as strong, tough and powerful as I can possibly be. I have no desire to overthrow the world's government and install a dictatorship like I'm some Sauron or Voldemort-expy.

As long as they don't bother me, I really couldn't care less about them.

So, let them see me, in all my bloodied, villainous glory. What the hell are they gonna do about it? Invent a new hashtag on twitter? That's just marginally more useful than sending thoughts and prayers.

Besides, if push comes to shove and I somehow _do_ need humanity on my side, I can still twist this situation in my favor. Wonder Woman was obscure at best in this day and age, and history is told by the victors: it's hard to defend yourself from slander portraying you as an evil madwoman hellbent on destroying the city when your dead.

I would prefer to not slander a dead woman, and a hero of Diana's caliber at that, but it's hardly the worst thing that I've been forced to do in this life, even before I stapled my brain to Zod's corpse.

As I've been forced to prove countless times again and again, there's almost nothing that I will not do in order to guarantee my safety.

Still, it seemed that it wouldn't come to that (at least not today) as I saw a slim pod rocketing past the slow helicopters on a direct course towards me. Arriving in the exact number of seconds the AI had promised, the Kryptonian escape module came to a rest a few feet in front of me, hovering over the scattered debris that was all that remained of the top eight floors of this office building.

As the lid opens with a slight hiss, I waste no time in gathering Wonder Woman's body and head, placing it in the pod alongside her sword and her lasso. Briefly I consider tracking down her shield as well, but I decide against it. The sword could have been potentially dangerous in someone else's hands, but the shield, while tough, isn't capable of really harming me.

Even if the person who found it had the capabilities to reshape the magical metal into a weapon (and considering that the vast majority of people with that particular skill were currently residing on a tiny island, I considered those odds to be astronomically low) then that would take quite some time and effort, meaning it was of no immediate concern for me.

And if my future plans worked out, it was unlikely to become a concern at a later point in time as well.

Closing the lid just in time so that the arriving helicopters hadn't been able to get a proper look at what I had put inside, I contact the ship again.

" **Take this body to the labs. Research its genetic structure. Once you've decoded it, and you're done extracting the Codex from Kal-El, look for ways to combine the DNA of this specimen with the most ideal Kryptonian strand possible. Create the ultimate hybrid for me, but only in a model: I only want it manufactured** _ **after**_ **we have found a way for my mind to inhabit the new body, in a manner which** _ **doesn't**_ **involve horrible mutilation and literal stitches holding together a corpse. This body is proving to be a sufficiently capable stepping stone towards perfection, but only once I have achieved that perfection shall I be satisfied.** "

"Very well. Extraction of genetic samples from the donor-body shall commence immediately upon return of pod CT/1, alongside continuing extraction of the Codex."

" **Thank you. While you're doing that, please contact the governing bodies of the United States of America. Send a message to the president, but also make sure to send a message to those who puppet the president. Use my datafiles from Lexcorp to identify the** _ **actual**_ **authorities, directory M. Masters, access code AC1:6/19-38.** "

"Acknowledged. What should the message say?" the AI says smoothly in my ear while the pod takes off at blinding speeds towards the ship.

I turn my back on the scene of carnage surrounding me as I face the direction where I know the lake which hides the Batcave lies.

" **Tell them… that in return for a few concessions and favors, I'm volunteering for Task Force X.** "

And with that, I bend my knees as I flex my muscles and with a mighty jump, which reduces the battered remains of the office building to gravel and dust, I rocket towards the outskirts of the city, towards my next confrontation.

It's regrettable that, in order for me to guarantee my own life, I have been forced to take the life of others. And I'll probably be forced to take quite a few more before my work is done.

It is a price that they will have to accept.

I already have long ago.

* * *

It takes me less than ten minutes of flat-out running and jumping from building to building in order to get to Bruce's lake. As in, the entire lake is property of the Wayne family, not just the house that was built on it.

Being extremely rich in a fictional universe meant that you had bullshit-levels of wealth.

Of course, I wasn't interested in the house that sat on the lake: all my attention was focused on the large structure hidden underneath its surface. Coming to an explosive stop in the shallows on the far side of the lake opposite from the house, the water is blasted back several feet by my impact, before the water level slowly rises until it reaches just under my knees.

I barely even notice the wetness (partly because of the waterproof Kryptonian suit I'm wearing, ignoring its slight battle-damage) as I peer through the murky water with my X-Ray vision. I can clearly see the very bottom of the lake and as I swing my gaze towards the house, I spot the large structures that hide the launching mechanism for the Bat-Jet, with a mass of steel and electronics behind it signifying the Batcave.

As I wade deeper into the freezing cold lake (by human standards, that is: I barely even register the temperature at all) I keep trying to peer further and further into the many walls and layers of the Batcave, watching for any anti-Kryptonian traps.

I can spot a skeleton sitting in a chair behind a desk, something slim and metal in one hand, and what I think is a glass in the other.

Alfred, probably nursing a drink and with his finger on the trigger, waiting for me.

As I start to pick up more and more details in the cave, I also spot what I think are the Kryptonite traps, which I can distinguish by the anomalous energy signature they give off and their weird material structure. I can't quite make out how most of the traps are supposed to work, but the majority of them are hidden in the walls and floors and seem to be connected to pressure plates and laser-systems. Most of the kryptonite-traps actually involve only slivers of the stuff, due to the limited amount that Bruce had to work with, but as his weapon had shown, a mere spear-tip is sufficient to take down the likes of Doomsday.

A sliver was all that was needed to put me down, if I wasn't careful.

The slivers were incorporated into explosives, guns and one trap even seemed to be a spear that would shoot out from the floor if I stepped on the panel hiding it from view. Well, hiding it from human view, that is.

Taking no chances, I send heat to my eyes and a moment later, bright red screaming lasers cut through literal tons of water with the fury of an angry god, slamming through the outer layers of the cave with ease on a direct collision course with the traps. Most of the traps perish immediately in explosions, or are reduced to rubble on impact, but some of them survive my laser volley.

Either they were simply built sturdier or with less explosive-prone materials, or they were simply better shielded.

A second volley takes care of that.

And just to be on the safe side (considering this is _Batman's_ inner sanctum) a third and fourth volley follow.

By now, large holes litter the cave, and water is rushing in through the tears in the outer walls. I estimate that within the hour, the entire cave will be submerged. As I focus back on the skeleton (which is picking itself up off the ground, since my lasers and subsequent explosions shook the entire cave top to bottom) I briefly consider letting the water take care of him.

I decide against it though. Not only do I simply not have the time to stand around here for however long it takes for Alfred to die, but there's also a more sentimental reason. There's no denying that I'm the bad guy, no matter what my motivation for my actions is. At this point, I have no choice but to accept the fact that I'm unequivocally evil.

But that doesn't mean that I have to be a dick about it.

Alfred deserves better than a death by drowning. I cannot allow him to live, since he will never forgive me for what I did to Bruce (and I would think lesser of him if he did), but a slow, desperate suffocation isn't the way he should go.

A man like him deserves to die with dignity and, if he's willing to hear me out, with an explanation from me.

So I keep wading further inward until the water is near my collarbones, before I swing my arms forwards and kick off, shooting down in a deep dive that takes me to the bottom of the lake in seconds. After taking a moment to reorient myself, I give a few hard strokes of my arms and legs and within a couple of seconds I've rocketed towards the outer layers of the Batcave.

I don't bother trying to slow myself down, crashing through the metal and stone like a wrecking ball from hell, tearing the entire structure apart in a shower of gravel and metal shrapnel. With the wall even more ruined now, the water is starting to rise even faster, but it's not much of a concern for me.

And after I've had my conversation with Alfred, he won't have to worry about it either.

As I leisurely make my way to where I know the Butler is sitting, I let my eyes roam across the Batcave. There are a number of displays containing memorabilia of Batman's career (my eyes linger for a few long seconds on the besmirched Robin suit) but overall, the Cave is less fanciful than it's usually portrayed as in cartoons and some of the comics. It's mostly just a futuristic hangar, surrounded by the rough rock of the cave itself and lined with workbenches, databanks and several high-grade computers.

All in all, it's rather… bare.

As I look around the spacious cavern, I can see that in several large parts of the Batcave, the power has gone out, either a result of me accidentally hitting some generators or powerlines, or the resulting explosions from the destroyed traps shorting out some of the systems. Looking through those systems, I spot what seem to be cameras, several of which are focused on the large room where Alfred is waiting for me.

In a flash, I realize what they are for: Alfred most likely knows that he is about to die. Maybe he had some slight hopes to kill me with the traps, but if he had, that hope has gone now. He has been at Bruce's side every step of the way in the man's misguided crusade against Clark. He knows the capabilities of a Kryptonian as much as Bruce did, and he probably got an even better read on them if he somehow managed to watch my fight with Diana.

Without the Kryptonite, he knows that his survival chances are approaching zero. But that doesn't mean that he's giving up. Those cameras are either hooked up to a live-feed or an off-site data storage. He knows I'm here to kill him: and he's going to document every second of it. Even if I cared enough about ruling that I wanted to sway the humans to my side, the footage of his death would ensure that my reign would never truly be accepted, not by everyone.

Alfred was trying to set it up so that he could become a martyr for a possible future rebellion against me. He was counting on me being a stereotypical villain, hellbent on giving evil monologues and creating a government in my own image, and he intended to use that against me, even from beyond the grave.

Unfortunately for him, he overlooked two things:

One, as I've said, I currently have no interest in ruling all of humanity under an iron fist. I won't say no to becoming God-Emperor of Earth later down the line (we all need a hobby after all), but I have extremely little interest in ruling much of anything really.

And secondly, I have X-Ray vision.

As I slowly ascend the stairs to the floor where Alfred's waiting for me, my eyes once again glow with a menacing red light, before lasers capable of leveling cities rage throughout the cave, targeting generators, powerlines and the cameras themselves. Once again, the cave rumbles and by the time I burst through one of the walls of the room in which Alfred is waiting, not a single camera is left functioning.

Sorry Alfred. But I'm much too busy to bother worrying about possible future insurrections to entertain your little scheme.

To the old man's credit, the moment I've crashed through one of the walls of the room, he has his arm up and is firing away, three bullets impacting my face and four more impacting my broad chest. Despite his shock, grief and age, their grouping is absolutely perfect. Still, the only reason they even hit me at all was because I let them, and judging from his morose expression, he knows it.

" **Alfred.** " I boom, before I pause, unsure of what to say next.

Sorry I brutally murdered the man you considered your own son? Not that it would have been a completely lie (I didn't regret it, but I am somewhat saddened that Bruce's death was necessary), but it felt far too crude and even slightly disrespectful in the light of what had happened.

Instead, I simply settled on: " **Has his will and testament been taken care of?** ".

For a few long moments, Alfred simply stares at me, his gun trembling in his limp hand, his drink spilled all over the floor and long forgotten. Looking back into his red-rimmed eyes, I can see the telltale cocktail of grief and copious amounts of hard liquor, a combination I have seen in others many times before.

Once I have a little down-time and the opportunity to grab a drink, I intend to do the same myself once I allow myself to process my betrayal of Lex.

The grief, alcohol and my sudden question cause Alfred to be a little slow in answering, and when he does, it comes out soft and broken.

"Wha… what?"

I feel for the man, I truly do. But I'm also on a mission which requires his death, which makes all the time I spend talking to him instead of securing my future survival a sentiment-fueled waste of time. Time that I _should_ be spending on my next steps. Still, seeing him so utterly miserable and broken after what I did to him out of selfish reasons and paranoia, I don't find it within myself to simply kill him and be done with it, so I slowly repeat my question.

" **Bruce's will and testament. What happens to Wayne Enterprises and the various Wayne Foundations?** "

The old man misinterprets my question, fire coming back to his eyes as he straightens from his slumped posture as he trains the gun on my head again, despite the futility of the action.

"You _monster_! His death wasn't enough?! You want his _money_ as well?!"

" **No, Alfred. I don't care about money. And neither did he, not really. He only cared what was done with the money, that it was used to help people, either through the Wayne organizations, or through the Batman. I just want to make sure that this does not change with his death. The Batman is no more, but Wayne Enterprises employs thousands of people, and the Wayne Foundations provide for** _ **tens**_ **of thousands. I do not wish to see all that end with him.** "

"Then you shouldn't have killed him in the first place!" Alfred rages against me, shouting so loud that he nearly loses his balance, tears freely streaming down his sunken cheeks.

For a moment, silence falls between us, only broken by his ragged breathing and the sound of water still filling the Batcave. I briefly mull over what I should say, before I start speaking again.

" **Alfred. I know that you won't believe me, no matter how I say this. But I** _ **do**_ **regret killing him. But he did not leave me a choice: he was so blinded by his own grief and paranoia, he wanted to** _ **kill**_ **Superman. He wanted to kill the greatest hero that humanity has ever produced. He may have been an alien, but** _ **humans**_ **raised him,** _ **humans**_ **taught him to use his powers responsibly and when faced with an impossible choice between the people who would shun and fear him and** _ **his**_ _ **own**_ **people… he chose humanity. And Bruce** _ **still**_ **wanted to drive a spear through his heart. If a hero like Superman had to die for his paranoia… how could there possibly be any coexistence between us?** " I slowly rumble.

Once again, anger gives the old man life, and with strong strides (though somewhat uneven due to the alcohol) Alfred fearlessly steps towards me, poking me in the chest with the barrel of his gun as he bares his teeth at me.

"Don't… don't you _fucking_ dare… _you_ don't get to blame him! Not you! Not after… you! You killed him! You took him away from me! _My_ Bruce! You… my…" Alfred trails off as he chokes on his tears, as he desperately tries to keep his eyes open as he continues to ram his gun in my chest, searching for the words.

He seems to have found them, since he takes a deep breath, and leans in even closer, his voice coming out in a furious whisper.

" _Rot. In. Hell_."

It is said with such venom, I'm halfway convinced that he accidentally casted a spell, and I can't quite suppress a shiver going down my mechanical spine, despite the ridiculously vast gulf in power between us.

" **Eventually, Hell will come to Earth, Alfred. And once it does, I do not intend to go quietly. Now, hate me all you want. I cannot blame you for that, not after what I've done to you. But for the memory of your son… tell me, is his will and testament in order? Will his legacy, the legacy of his** _ **parents**_ **continue now that he's gone?** "

For a moment, I think that Alfred is about to strike me in the face, despite the fact that he'd have to stand on his toes in order to actually do so and the fact that it would most definitely break his hand instead of harming me.

But eventually he just… deflates. While the target of his anger has arrived, he has no outlet for it other than simply screaming at me, and between all of the booze that he's been drinking and the fact that he's been awake without rest since yesterday at least means that he's just too tired to do so.

He turns away from me, slowly, numbly picking up a chair and straightening it, before letting himself fall heavily into the stained leather. He lets the gun fall from his hand onto the table in front of him, apparently having given up all hope and having lost the last remains of his fighting spirit. He sits silent for a few moments, before he reaches into his breast pocket with a trembling hand, taking a small photograph from it. I see a younger Alfred standing in a wide field, his hand on the shoulder of a small child, probably no older than six or so.

A young Bruce Wayne smiles at the cameraman, his expressions unmarred by one of the most famous traumatic experiences in fiction. The smile is mirrored on Alfred's face, but instead of looking at the camera like the child, he is instead looking down on little Bruce. The fondness in his gaze is easy to see, even in this small and faded photograph, the love for his adopted child present even then, and undiminished now. Alfred keeps staring at the picture with a far-away gaze, silent tears still streaking across his face. Having no wish no push him and seeing no need to do so, I instead walk over towards one of the cabinets, pulling open the mahogany doors and I start searching for an unbroken glass and bottle.

I quickly find both, and I pour the golden-colored drink into the (probably ridiculously expensive) crystal glass, placing the bottle on the table and stoppering it, before I slowly walk over towards Alfred, extending the glass towards him. It takes him a few moments in order to even notice that I'm standing there and a few moments longer before he decides what to do (he's probably considering whether he should hurl the glass at the wall or my face) before he accepts the drink with a trembling hand.

He throws back about half of it in a single gulp, before he returns to simply sitting there, staring at the picture in his hands, lost in thought. I cross my arms as I wait for his answer, which comes after a few minutes.

He's still looking at the smiling child Bruce Wayne with empty eyes, and his voice is very weak.

"All of his personal estates and belongings he gifted to me. Along with about a third of his liquid funds. Another third is to be distributed over the various Wayne Enterprises branches. The rest is to be gifted to the Wayne Foundation. Lucius is the new CEO of Wayne Enterprises. I'm the new Chairman of the Wayne Foundation. There are several smaller beneficiaries, but that's the important bits."

" **What happens to your shares, once you've died?** "

The aged butler barely even acknowledges the fact that I've basically just told him to his face that I'll kill him, his gaze still vacant and distant, his voice sounding like it's on auto-pilot.

"My own funds will be distributed amongst my remaining family. The same for my belongings, though several of the artworks and collector's items I inherited from Br… they will be gifted to various galleries. Control of the Foundation will revert to the Board, they'll appoint a new Chairman. I've already sent out the paperwork. Everything's in order." He softly says, his breath occasionally hitching.

Eventually he turns towards me, a complicated mix of anger, despair, hatred and sorrow visible in his eyes. But there's also resignation there.

"You won't destroy his legacy? Wayne Enterprises… Wayne _Foundations_ … you won't touch them? The Foundation… they were an initiative of his mother…"

" **I know that you will not value it, but I give you my word: I will not interfere in any Wayne affairs. Should I find that someone else is, then I will do everything in my power to make sure that their efforts are thwarted and that Bruce's and your will shall remain undisturbed. It is not much. But it is all that I can give you.** " I solemnly reply with a nod, receiving one from Alfred in return, who returns his attention to the picture, a momento of happier times that are now long past.

I remain silent for a few moments, leaving the broken man to his thoughts, before I speak up again.

" **The water will soon reach this level.** " I say, making an effort to keep my tone neutral instead of threatening, no easy task given its low gravely pitch.

Alfred does little more than give a little hum, but does otherwise not react to my words. I'm silent for a few moments, before I try again.

" **You'll drown.** " I say, implicitly offering him an easier way out.

Once again he hums, but this time, he calmly folds up the photograph with unnaturally still movements, the grief-fueled trembling from before now gone completely. Placing the picture in his breast pocket with an eerie calm, Alfred turns to look at me, his gaze filled with anger and stubbornness.

"No. No, I don't think I will."

His next move is so unexpected, it roots me to the floor, leaving me unable to react to his movements despite the fact that I'm many times faster than he is.

Because, without any hesitation whatsoever, Alfred swipes the gun from the table and in a single smooth movement, places it in his own mouth… and pulls the trigger.

As the loud bang slowly stops ringing in the room, I overcome my shock and approach the still form of Alfred Pennyworth, unsure of what to do. Eventually, I reach out with my massive hand, gently closing the man's eyes.

" **May you find peace in death, Alfred. I hope you get to see Bruce, Thomas and Martha in whatever it is that awaits us after this life. If you do… I would ask you to give them my apologies, but words are meaningless and I would not deserve it in any case. So, instead I just ask you to be happy there, with them. Leave your hate and misery for the living.** " I softly say to his corpse, feeling that my words are somehow insufficient.

Killing Bruce and Clark had been a necessity: neither one would be as vulnerable again as in that single, penultimate moment at the height of their clash. Clark weakened by Kryptonite, and Bruce wholly focused on the task at hand and completely blindsided by my recently acquired power.

I had killed Diana in the heat of battle. My far superior physiology meant that the fight inevitably would have shifted in my favor, but her magically enhanced weaponry had tipped the scales in her favor. Her sword was capable of parting Kryptonian flesh with terrifying ease, allowing her a real chance at killing me. But the second that I had gotten my hands on it, the battle had been decided.

But Alfred… Alfred had simply been a human with the wrong connections. While he was a potential threat, he was also merely a man who I had just robbed of his most beloved person, a son in all but blood. This wasn't like what I had done to the Joker, or even Harley. Those had been mad dogs, and I needed to put them town before their Plot Armor kicked into play and they found some incredulously convoluted and incredibly convenient way to become a problem for me down the line.

To paraphrase the great writer Terry Prachett: in a fictional world, a million-to-one chance happens all the time.

Still, as I keep mulling over these thoughts, I cannot shake the sense of melancholy that has been following me ever since I killed Wonder Woman. And even before that, when I put a bullet in the head of my best friend.

Dark thoughts follow me as I descend the various stairs of the Batcave, eventually leaving through the massive hole in its outer wall. And as I return to my ship in Metropolis, I leave the Batcave far behind, where its rooms and the remains of its last occupants are swallowed up by the dark waters, never to see the light of day again.

* * *

 **Fun Fact:** Michael's access code AC1:6/19-38 is a reference to the history of DC Comics. Can you figure out what it is? (I don't think it's superhard to figure out, but let me know in the comments)

 **AN:** Sorry this is so short. I wanted to include Mike's meeting with the USA Government and perhaps even introduce the Task Force X as well. But I'm currently in the middle of finals, so I really ought to get back to studying. And this felt like a nice place to cut off the chapter. Most of the complaints about this story say that the MC isn't likeable. So I tried to give him a little more depth here. He's definitely a villain-protagonist at this point, more so than Michael from 12 Steps, who has blood on his hands as well, especially in the early days of his career. I just wanted to show that he's not _just_ evil. He's not evil for the lulz. He isn't hurting/killing people because he's enjoying it, but because he's utterly convinced that it's necessary. If that means that he has to play the villain, then so be it. I was going for a similar villain-vibe/mentality that Thanos has. Let me know if I succeeded or if you think that his character needs more work. Cheers!

 _Special shout-out to all of my patrons! Thank you for your support, IronmanMarkIV, justlovereadin, Shaman95, Daniel Dorfman, Carn Karuss, Sam, Thordur hrafn, DavidJP, ReaperScythe, CJ Elsen, RLStrained, Kahn, Vu and Roman Krupkin, I really do appreciate it a lot! Thanks!_


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